Pushed To Breaking Point
by TheKyttin13
Summary: Jimmy's been away at college for three years. Now at 21, he returns home to be declared a murderer with only the infamous Cindy Vortex as the prosecuting attorney. Can she prove him innocent? Or is she the one who needs saving in the end? OC's present, rating dropped to T due to author error. Part II in progress.
1. Flightmare

_This isn't right,_ he thought to himself. _But why?_

He sat at his desk, pencil in hand, nearly seven pages of writing before him. Front of the class, dead-center of the rows of desks, but only seven other students had been daring enough to take the Advanced Physical Manifestations college class, and all of them were on their way out of Oxford. Not him. He was the newbie, and he was always several notches above them, no matter what the teacher threw at them.

He glanced at the clock. 1:12 in the afternoon. He had little more than fifteen minutes left in the class before his ten-minute break began, after which he would be going to Advanced Mathematic Concepts, another higher-level class; another class in which he was the youngest, and one of few to have taken it. It was the day before he got out of classes for the summer.  
_  
C'mon, where's your brain blast when you need it?_ He scowled at the paper, glancing at the teacher. She was reading a clothing and fashion magazine, and appeared to be completely endorsed in the article, her chair leaning backwards against the wall, her feet on her large oak desk, auburn hair splayed against the white board behind her, pencil between her teeth. She showed no interest in the boy staring so intently at her, mere feet before her person.  
_  
Damn, I never like writing these conclusive summaries…but they are so key to the entire development of the paper. Must…finish…_ his thought ended, hand scribbling desperately on the paper.

The timer on the desk dinged. The class of eight gathered their papers and made a mad-dash to the stapler. After everything was said and done, eight beautiful, hand-written papers stood in a stack before the teacher, who was as usual completely nonplussed. The boy with the dark brown coiffed hair and intelligent blue eyes had left, his paper on the top of the stack, nine pages in length, the longest she would read. Though, she only ever read the first two pages and the last two pages of his work; she knew as well as he did that he more than completed his fair share of the work.

He stopped at his dorm, reveling in the madness of it all. "One more class and I'm headed home," he breathed aloud. His mechanical dog barked in agreement, wagging his tail excitedly. He checked his desk; the plane ticket was still there. TWO-WAY FLIGHT, it read. He would be heading home to his parents' house in one short hour.

The clock read 1:34 p.m. He sighed.

"One more class, boy. Then you and I are on our way."

The dog barked cheerfully as his master closed the door to his dorm. He laid down to nap for the duration of the hour.

Meanwhile, the boy had made his way back to the main building of the campus and into his math class, feeling even more frazzled than he had while writing his paper.  
_  
This isn't right. You need to be there._

But where? he asked himself.  
_  
Home…your childhood is calling to you.  
_  
He shook his head; the thoughts merely scattered and departed to the back burner. He sat, once again front and center, at the last desk of his day for a whole three months. The professor stood up, a grin on his face.

"Is everyone ready for summer to begin? This is your last day with me for this year, you know."

Everyone cheered and clapped excitedly. The boy had been staring aimlessly at his notebook, thoughts swirling idly; his train of thought was not interrupted by the sudden noise. _Home…  
_  
"Well, to commemorate your last day of being on this campus, and the start of your vacation, I have a small paper you must fill out."

Everyone but the boy groaned, making the teacher laugh.

"We aren't doing a test or quiz. No, for your last day, you will be writing to me. You will be telling me where it is you plan on going for the summer, and what you plan on doing, and if you'll even be back next year."

The class looked around, positive energy radiating from their grins and bright, eager eyes. The boy's train of thought finally pulled into its station to rest just as the paper hit his desk.  
_  
Over your summer, where will you go, who will you see, and what will you do?  
_  
The boy stared dumbly at the paper. _Math…wait, am I in the wrong class?_ He looked around worriedly, but felt even more confused after realizing he was indeed in the correct class. _Where will I go…?_

He pulled the pencil from behind his ear and attempted to write. Fifteen minutes before the final bell rang, he was staring out the window, having not finished his paper. He hadn't even started; very unlike his normal can-do attitude.

"As a reward to my students," the professor called out; most of the small class had finished writing and happened to be talking in hushed voices, "I shall release those of you who have finished at this time. Enjoy your summer."

Everyone scrambled to finish while cheering loudly. The professor was grinning with the rest of them. After the floodgates had been quelled, the boy and the professor were the only ones left in the room.

"James, shouldn't you be on your way to your flight? You're the primary reason I gave everyone an early release."

The boy looked around at his name. "Sir, I haven't written anything. How can you expect to release me without having written anything?"

The professor slid the paper away from the boy. He grinned.

"James, I understand the pressures of college. As a freshman here, you shouldn't even be in this class, but your intellect describes otherwise. So…"

The professor ripped the paper into tiny pieces and scattered them across the floor.

"…enjoy your summer."

James gathered his things and tossed them into his bag. "Thank you for a great year, sir!" he called as he exited the room. He got halfway down the hallway before he actually thought about his professor's words and realized it really was summer. He took off in a sprint toward his dorm.

The door blew open with a noise like cannonfire as James rushed in. His dog woke and barked excitedly, wagging his tail once again. James patted his head and began stuffing his possessions somewhat carelessly into his hypercube; he was going home.

The last thing he grabbed was a photograph of him at his high-school graduation before clicking the light off and departing, the dog at his heels. He looked at the photograph and his mind resumed its journey on his train of thought; his legs automatically carried him to the train station, where his dog purchased him a ticket and located his seat. James noticed nothing; he had his eyes glued to one person in the photo.

The train started forward and whisked the boy and his dog off to the airport, where his flight would be waiting to take him overseas. And the entire duration of the train travel, he stared at the photo, never taking his eyes off the figure who had been standing directly to his left.  
_  
It's not right.  
_  
The dog extended his neck and looked over James's shoulder at the photograph. A glance toward his master informed his computerized brain that the boy was deeply engrossed in his musings. He glanced at the clock over the doorway and calculated that the train would arrive at the airport in less than a minute. He rather regretfully nudged his master's arm.

James looked up, temporarily letting his train of thought come to a rest stop. He saw the clock and patted his dog thankfully, who then proceeded to lay his head on the boy's knee. _Just a few hours…and then I'll be home._

He stood up, the dog standing with him. "Ready for some R and R on the plane, Goddard?" he asked, stretching. The dog nodded and yawned at him as the train braked to a halt.

The doors slid open automatically. As soon as the boy stepped out, he heard his name being shouted. He looked around; one of his old friends, Liberty, was waving at him excitedly, her dark skin in stark contrast to her white t-shirt and pleated skirt. She had what looked like a guitar in a soft-cover case on her back, a synthesizer in its case on the ground to her left, and a travelling suitcase on the ground to her right. James headed over to her.

"I told you I'd be waiting here for you!" she cried.

"Libby! Hey!" he answered, giving her a hug. "It's been a long time since I last saw you. How's the music going?"

"The other girls decided to take the summer off and give our brains a while to rest. After touring with Graystar for four months, we got a little tired of the gallivanting around, ya know?"

"Well, not really, but I can imagine." He reached down and scooped up her synthesizer as they started to walk toward their boarding gate.

"So, Jimmy, what's Oxford like?" she inquired.

"Eh, not as great as I thought. Everyone there makes me feel like I'm some sort of freak or something; I'm in classes with seniors who've been in college for most of their lives, yet this is only my third year ever. The Dean's freaking out because he can't find classes hard enough for me."

Libby laughed. "Still a genius as ever, huh?"

"Well…I haven't been inventing recently, but I try to keep my mind well-lubricated."

"So, you looking forward to going back to Retroville?" she asked as they approached their departure gate, number 7.

"I have to say, I am. I expect your boyfriend has been keeping well?"

She giggled. "He's so cute. He's a total dork, but he's cute. And yes, he has. He's been working a lot recently, but I hope he takes some time off. I get a little lonely sometimes, ya know?"

"Yeah…I know what you mean…" Jimmy commented, half-smiling gloomily, eyes on his shoes. Libby glanced at him, his tone not at all what she imagined it would be.

"You okay, Jim? You haven't been yourself recently, even on the video chats we've had."

"I'm…I'm fine," he muttered.

Libby stopped walking at the entrance to the gate; Jimmy continued staring at his shoes and didn't notice her lack of presence. When he finally did (right when the hall bent into the plane's interior), he turned and looked at her warily.

"I said I'm fine."

"And I don't believe you. Jimmy, she left when you did. She's coming back now too; remember, she said so?"

"I remember…but I didn't believe her. I don't even think she believed herself."

He looked at the ground again, his eyelids drooping. Libby walked up to him and put her hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, Jim, listen. She'll forgive you. Really. I know her, and I know she will. I know you two have been missing each other, even though you won't say it, even though you both won't even look at each other. You won't do it because you're afraid that the other person won't feel the same. It doesn't take a genius to figure that out."

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes. "Let's find our seats. I…I need some sleep. It's been a long three years."

Libby led the way to their chairs and left the flight attendants to safely and securely stow their belongings. They had booked a private flight; a small plane consisting of twenty-four passengers, three flight attendants, and two pilots with a direct flight to the airport closest to their city. Almost as soon as they'd buckled their seatbelts, the plane lurched backwards and to the left along the painted yellow strip on the ground. One of the attendants came over the intercom and said, through a slight French accent:

"Now departing Evergarden Airport. Please keep your seatbelts fastened until the overhead lights darken. This is a one-way direct flight to SunnySide Airport in the central region of the United States of America. Thank you for flying Private Airbus 226."

The plane had lined up with the runway. Libby glanced out her window and saw one of the flight crew on the ground, two glowing orange cones in her hands. She flicked them both forward and the jets immediately engaged; the plane gently started forward, picking up speed as the tires slipped across the ground. The plane lifted from the ground and immediately tilted upward at a very steep angle, slightly upsetting some of the passengers. Jimmy and Libby glanced at each other, unsure of what to make of the sudden altitude. Their ears popped several times before the plane finally leveled out. The large blue screen at the front of the plane claimed that they were at four-thousand feet above the ground travelling at nearly nine-hundred miles per hour. The seatbelt light darkened and a loud ding rang out.

"We have now reached our flight level. Please feel free to move about the cabin."

Libby looked toward Jimmy to find his seat empty. She looked around slightly wildly before realizing he was standing near the front of the plane, his head inside the cockpit. Her eyebrows furrowed; what was he doing talking to the pilots?

He finally withdrew his head, looking slightly shaken; his face was pale, his pupils wide. He sat down heavily; Libby could see his legs shaking.

"What's up, Jim?"

"The pilots said that they made a mistake in take-off. The taxi crew on the ground told the plane to take-off at the same instant another plane was told to enter the runway. They entered in front of us and forced us to shoot upward like a rocket."

"But…but we aren't dead, so we're alright, aren't we?"

"Not exactly.

"When our plane took off, the stress on the engines was very high. Plus, the plane before us was issuing exhaust right into the intakes on the jets, so we nearly stalled. Apparently…something in the rudders' wiring has gone awry, so turning and landing will be difficult."

Libby inhaled deeply, trying to calm her frantic heart. "Are…are we going to die?"

"I do not believe so. I'm going to hope beyond hope that the pilots are skilled enough to get us home safely."

He rested his forehead on his fingertips, massaging his temples. Libby had never seen him so shaken. He mumbled incoherently, then made his voice louder:

"This was a mistake."

"What was?"

"Coming on this flight. Meeting you. Going home to see everyone."

"Why is that, Jim?"

"It…It just is. This is a sign. It's telling me that something's not right."

They sat in silence for a while, just staring around aimlessly. Everyone on the plane finally seemed content; they had long-since leveled out and had reached a constant flying speed.

The plane jolted in the air. The seatbelt light came back on overhead. Jimmy and Libby looked at each other uneasily.

"We are entering some turbulence. Please, fasten your seatbelts securely and remain c-"

She swallowed her words as the nose of the plane plummeted straight down. Everyone aboard the plane screamed in fear, their stomachs rising into a freefall, the plane accelerating toward the earth and its ocean below, altitude dropping, as the air pocket lengthened around them, stretching on for eternity.

Jimmy watched the altitude on the screen plummet just as fast as the plane did. 3000…2800…2500…

"Jimmy, DO something!" Libby cried.

"There's nothing I CAN do! We're stuck in an air pocket!"

"Then get us the hell OUT of the air pocket!"

He glanced at the screen again. 1700…1400… _What can I do…what can I do?  
_  
Suddenly, the nose of the plane jerked upward, flipping the plane upright. The numbers began to stabilize; that is, all but one.

1200…1100…1050…

Jimmy glanced out the window and realized they were indeed still falling at an alarming rate. He unbuckled his seatbelt and began to think, eyes back on the screen.

1000…950…900…850…

He stood up rather suddenly and bolted into the cockpit, bouncing off the furniture. Goddard and Libby watched him anxiously.

He stuck his head through the curtains. "Why are we still descending?"

"Our left engine isn't responding. No matter what we try, we can't get it back online."

The pilot returned to speaking with the British air traffic control tower, leaving Jimmy hanging.

"Flip all rudders and stabilizers down; keep this plane as high in the air as possible. Nose up, just in case we crash."

"Son, how the hell are you going to think you can prevent a crash?" but by then the boy had gone.  
_  
How, you ask? Simple: I'm a genius.  
_  
Goddard had cut a hole under his chair large enough for both of them to fit into. Goddard dove through first, his master landing behind him.

Miles of wiring and ducting snaked through the bottom shell of the plane. It was so crammed Jimmy couldn't fit and had to watch as Goddard worked his way toward the wing joists.

"Goddard, set up a vision relay link and get in there. I need to see this engine."

While his dog ran down the length of the wing, he retrieved a screen from his carry-on and turned it on; as soon as it found Goddard's signal, Jimmy was presented with a vivid, fully-colored image: an engine that was gushing black smoke and had sparks flying amidst the parts.

"Get in there, boy. We need to get this plane flying again."

Goddard barked in affirmative and crawled carefully down toward the engine, using the suction cups on his feet to grip the stainless steel wall of the jet mounting. Jimmy took a moment to look back at the blue screen.

750…730…700…

He was about to return to the screen when Libby waved a hand in front of his face.

"Why the hell are we still falling?"

"Goddard's trying to fix the engine. I can't get in there; it's too narrow."

"Well, could he hurry the fuck up about it?"

"I can't rush him, Libby! One mistake and we're all done-for."

She sighed and closed her eyes, an attempt at relaxation. Jimmy looked back at the screen to see a message:

Everything is repaired as best as possible. Reattach ignition wiring harness?

"Try it, boy."

The dog lined the wires up and twined them together, melting the rubberized coating back around the joints. The acrid smell worked its way back to Jimmy, who then wrinkled his nose.

"Alright, boy. Get out of there."

The screen went blank and the sound of metallic feet clattering on the inside of the plane's shell reached Jimmy's ears. He clambered out of the hole and watched the numbers on the large blue screen continue to drop.

560…550…540…

"Jimmy, what's the verdict?"

He flicked his attention to Libby as he stepped into the central aisle; Goddard re-emerged from under Jimmy's chair and resealed the floor.

"I'm going to have them fire it up."

He spun on his heel and pushed his face back into the curtains.

"Try to start the engine now."

"Kid, it wasn't responding earlier. How the hell will it respond now?"

"Just try it."

The pilot sighed and flicked a lever. A light above it winked green; the pilot stared in disbelief.

"How did-"

"Just fire it up before we crash!"

The co-pilot pushed a glowing green button on the left side of the central console while the pilot gaped at Jimmy. The plane vibrated heavily and a sudden oscillating whine filled the plane, followed almost immediately by a roar that echoed throughout the pressurized cabin.

"Kid, what the hell did you do?"

"I had my dog repair the engine, since the wings are a bit small for an adult to fit into. Now, sir, could you please pull the plane up? We're still falling, you know."

The pilot looked around somewhat wildly before pulling back on the flight wheel before him. The plane began climbing once again; cheers erupted throughout the cabin. Libby bombarded Jimmy with more hugs and happy screaming; his eyes suddenly felt tired and he allowed himself to be dragged back to his chair. He flopped into it unceremoniously as Libby perched on hers, all abubble in excitement.

"Jimmy, you saved us!"

"I've gotta say…I've not had to think and work that hard in a long time. I needed that, even though now I'm tired."

"But you did it! You knew how to fix it!"

"Actually, Goddard did all the work," he confessed, petting the dog's cranial dome. The canine's tongue lolled from his mouth in contentment.

"I can't believe…well, I guess I CAN believe that the old Jimmy still has his genius factor."

"Yeah…but it's not a permanent repair to the engine. It needs to be fully serviced. I'd say we'll make it to the airport, but if we were going to California it wouldn't be enough."

Libby's mouth opened to reply, then she paused. "Wait…Jim…are you SURE we're gonna make it?"

"We'll make it to the airport. The plane won't be flying for a while afterward, though."

They both sighed heavily, she in relief, he in exhaustion. She watched his eyes droop closed and smiled.

"Sleep well Jimmy. I'll wake you up when we get there."

He mumbled a reply and drifted away into a sea of black.


	2. Vibrant Apology

**_A/N: I had originally written five chapters for this story, but I took down everything except the first; I had made a mistake in keeping track of my dates when writing the second and third chapters and created a loose end that I couldn't tie up, also in the third chapter. I could have fixed it, but the whole thing sounded a bit superficial, and everyone said Cindy was out of character, so I started over. Hopefully this is better, and I WON'T make the same mistake again. _**

**_Anyways, on to an...interesting...chapter 2. Enjoy if you can. :)_**

**_

* * *

_**

_He's coming back to Retroville...we're going to be here again, at the same time. _

Cindy blinked, eyes wide, as she gazed at herself in the mirror in her childhood bedroom. Nothing had changed since she'd left; she'd told her parents she'd be back, and so she was. But she hadn't expected everything to be left as it was. It was mildly comforting, and a fair bit disturbing, but none of that mattered to Cindy at that moment. Her suitcase lay unopened on her bed, full of her personal possessions that she'd brought back with her from Harvard. It had been a bit cold there most of the time, but she'd only been there for a year, and was top in all her classes. And yet, she felt bitter, thinking about how _he_ would have been top in all _his _classes, too, but _he_ was so much better because _he _was taking senior-level classes as a freshman, where she was only taking sophomore-level classes. Damn that boy. He would always be smarter than her, always. She pounded the vanity before her in anger, the mirror rattling. She spun the chair around and stood, moving to the window.

There was his house, one-story tall, sitting across the street from her, full of nothing but pain and suffering. It had been three years since they'd last seen each other, but the scars from their fight had bitten Cindy's heart so terribly deeply that they refused to hide themselves from sight. Her chest constricted as she gazed out at his clubhouse, his old laboratory concealed beneath the foundation of his house. There were too many memories here, too much pain, too much for her to deal with. She had to get out. She had to get away.

"Cynthia, would you like something to eat?"

"No, I'm alright," she called hoarsely to her mother. Sasha Vortex meant well, but she was a little bit injured that her daughter hadn't really told her much about the past year she'd been gone. And yet...it was always better to give her daughter time to come around. She always came around. At least...

_This isn't right. Something's going to happen, I can feel it._

She decided that it might be worthwhile to pay the old lab a visit, for old time's sake. She had to get out of her house, anyways; it was too cramped and too warm. The lab was always cool, always about sixty degrees Fahrenheit, always comfortable for hot-blooded people. And Cindy's blood was churning like boiling magma.

"Mom, I'm going to head out for a bit. Take a walk, get some fresh air."

Sasha nodded at her daughter as she walked past. There was no need for Cindy to explain more; she and her daughter hadn't exactly been all that close for their time as family members in the same house. Ever since Sasha's husband had divorced her, she'd become a needling pistol, easily angered and long to calm. Her daughter wasn't much different, but she supposed that it was mostly her blame to hold; she had the ability to control herself, but she'd let her rage get out of hand more often than she liked, and often felt regretful afterward, which only led to more rage and more regret, the emotions and brunt of which were passed along to her daughter. She hadn't ever intended to be a bad parent, nor had she ever wanted anything violent to become of her, but sometimes she needed to vent, and unfortunately for her, she had a bit of a short fuse.

Cindy shut the door gently behind her, tugging the hem of her white v-neck shirt down over the waistband of her jean capris. Her tennis shoes tapped gently on the pavement as she sauntered toward the clubhouse door. She stood on the welcome mat and twisted the handle; as if by some miracle, the mat slid out from under her, and she fell through the ground and down a long, plastic tunnel to the concrete floor of the lab, landing lightly on her feet. She would never really get used to the drop, but it was better than walking, for the most part. She gazed around, taking in the shelves and noises and tables and devices. There was hardly an inch of space in the entire lab that wasn't taken up by some sort of invention or scrap of paper with figures and characters scribbled on it. Even the floor was littered with debris and burn marks, marks scored into the floor from what appeared to be large explosions.

Cindy wrinkled her nose at the disorder. It was one thing for her to be mildly disorganized, it was another to see his lab so disheveled. And yet, it pleased her a bit to see that the genius hadn't invented something to help him keep the lab clean and orderly. She only felt amused for a moment, however, before returning to her normal suspicious and gritty nature. She was only left even more curious upon seeing a photograph tacked to the center of a very large bulletin board along the western wall near a large window that looked out over a huge pit in the earth. Only the photo captivated her attention, and only the photo stood askew and misplaced on the board, as though it didn't really belong there with the other random scraps of paper and newspaper clippings. For this photo was a photo Cindy recognized, one that she herself had, and it was of herself standing beside him, surrounded by all their friends, on the day they had graduated from high school. She plucked the photo from the bulletin board, inspecting it closely. She could see what looked like black smudge marks from dirty thumbs all over the photo, but not a single one touched her figure or the figure of the boy that stood beside her. It made her heart beat a bit stronger to think that he had spent much time staring at this photo, staring at them together, staring at _her._ Why, then, if he had been gazing so obsessively at this photo, had they gotten in that fight the night of graduation? Why was it that, even as he had been staring at the picture, a moment forever frozen in time, they had broken apart not mere hours later?

Cindy sighed shakily, retacking the photograph to the bulletin board. She could almost feel the scars on her heart paining her, but it wasn't an unwelcome or hurtful pain, it was more of a longing pain, a want of a time not so long ago, when things were simpler and more innocent. She realized, even as she tried to deny the fact to herself, that she missed that boy. Even if he had started the argument and finished it the same, even though he'd been gone for three years without any form of contact or attempt at contact to her, she missed him. And the thing that angered her most was that she couldn't figure out _why._

_Why do I miss you? I hate you, don't I?_

Only now, she wasn't so sure. She couldn't even answer herself within her own mind, couldn't come up with a justifiable excuse as to why her feelings were suddenly changing. It occurred to her that her feelings had never changed, that they were just now becoming more apparent now that they would be in the same place at the same time, but that didn't make any sense to her...did it?

_I can't get away from him. He'll always be here, tormenting me._

But even as she thought it, she knew he was not tormenting her. He wasn't doing anything consciously or deliberately, he was just _there._ And it angered her that he wouldn't just leave her to her fuming, that he had to come back and aggravate her again.

A bright light struck the right side of her face, and she turned to squint at the now-awake computer monitor. On the screen was a newscaster, and over her left shoulder was a photograph of a private jet plane.

"Reports have come in that the Private Airbus 226, one of only ten Private SuperJets on the earth, has had a critical engine failure. According to both eyewitness and airline representative reports, the jet was forced to take-off rather suddenly and with much engine stress from Evergarden Airport due to a communication error between the control tower and a passenger airline on the same runway. The SuperJet's engines were subjected to a great amount of stress due to the near-vertical take-off."

The camera switched to a haphazard video-camera recording of the small craft lifting away from the ground at a very steep angle, the underbelly of the craft just barely clearing the rear stabilizers of the passenger airline, a loud whining and explosive roar echoing from the jet engines as the small craft rocketed away into the clouds.

"According to pilot account, the craft encountered turbulence followed by a massive air-pocket while flying over the Atlantic ocean. The craft's left jet engine went offline for two minutes before mysteriously restarting and resuming flight over the ocean at a dangerously-low flight level. The craft is expected to land at the SunnySide Airport seven minutes behind schedule at this time, but information about the craft's current condition is sketchy, and there may be landing trouble due to the damaged engine units. We will keep our viewers updated as often as possible about the state of the craft. In other news..."

The screen blanked out. Cindy blinked for a moment, wondering what the newscast meant. Then it clicked. Evergarden was near Oxford. SunnySide was the northern airport. Cindy gasped.

_He's on that flight! I have to get to SunnySide!_

The black convertible car pulled quickly and crookedly into a parking spot on the bottom floor of the airport parking garage. A young blonde stepped from the vehicle, slamming the car door and hastily clicking the "lock" button on her remote. The car chirped at her in response, but she had already made her way to the crosswalk that would lead her to the east terminal, where the jet was scheduled to land. She strode quickly across the street when the light changed colors and located the appropriate unloading gate, number 21. Fortunately for her, she didn't have to wait there alone, as she saw a young, handsome spiky-haired individual standing beside a larger, red-haired friend.

She marched right up to the spiky-haired boy and punched him in the arm. "Oww!" he cried out, whirling around in surprise. His eyes widened and he broke into a grin.

"Cindy, why didn't you tell us you were coming?"

"Yeah, we would have carpooled," the redhead added.

"I didn't decide to come until about twenty minutes ago. There was a newscast that happened to appear on Jimmy's computer and-"

"You saw Jimmy's computer?" the redhead gasped. "How did you get in the lab?"

"It just kinda let me in, Carl. Anyways-"

"Did you find any new inventions in there?" the spiky-haired asked.

"No, Sheen, I didn't. Now will both of you shut up and listen?"

Both of them stowed their questions and shut their mouths very quickly. Cindy sighed.

"The computer lit up and a newscast aired, saying that a SuperJet plane is having engine trouble, flying from Evergarden Airport to SunnySide airport."

"So?" Sheen remarked, nonplussed.

"Sheen...isn't Evergarden by Oxford?" Carl asked, slowly putting the pieces together.

"It is? Man, why didn't you say so, Cindy?"

"I figured the fact that your girlfriend is on that plane might have meant something to you," she glowered.

"Libby's on the plane? Wait, didn't you say the plane was broken?"

"The engine is having problems," Cindy corrected, exasperated at his lack of cognitive presence.

"The plane's having problems, but Libby and Jimmy are on it?" Carl asked, summing everything up, his wide eyes magnified by his round, green-rimmed glasses.

"Yes, Carl. Our friends are on that plane."

Sheen finally understood the severity of the implications and grabbed Cindy harshly by the shoulders, shaking her back and forth like a ragdoll.

"Libby's gonna diiiieeeee!" he cried loudly. Carl pulled the Hispanic boy back.

"Sheen, shaking Cindy isn't going to fix anything!"

The blonde steadied herself, her vision spinning, hair standing on end. Finally, she recovered herself, glaring at Sheen.

"If I didn't sympathize with you so much you would probably be in the hospital," she growled. However, she couldn't stay angry with Sheen, as she watched his wide eyes slowly fill with tears. He sniffed and struggled to contain himself.

"I can't lose my Libby...she's all I have," he whispered, still holding the unshed tears in his eyes. Cindy immediately softened, feeling much the same way.

"Sheen...Jimmy's on that plane, too. And if I know that genius the way I think I know him, there's not a chance in hell that he's going to let that plane fall to pieces. He will get everyone here safely and together."

As if on queue, a throng of audible gasps and cries of horror rang out through the crowd that had gathered near Gate 21. The trinity looked out the window and had to gasp themselves, for landing unsteadily and dangerously on the runway was Private Airbus 226, the engine closest to the windows billowing turbulent clouds of black smoke, a large orange flare flickering at the back of the engine housing. The plane was accompanied by a loud, uncomfortable roar combined with a noise akin to steel grating on steel.

"Libby!" Sheen shouted. His eyes never left the plane until it disappeared down the runway to be taxied into the gate. He spun back to Cindy and Carl, who were both just as stunned.

"What do we do? Libby and Jimmy are in there!"

"We can't do anything, Sheen. It's up to the pilots and airport personnel to do something. All we can do is watch and hope."

"Cindy...I don't want to lose my friends. Jimmy's my best friend, and I don't even want to think about how I could live if he died," Carl whimpered.

_If you only knew, Carl..._

"Hang in there, guys. They'll be alright. Jimmy wouldn't die without a fight, and he sure as hell wouldn't let Libby go down either."

Carl shivered gloomily. Just then, the nose of the jet poked its way around the edge of Gate 20 and lined up to dock with Gate 21, the wing completely shrouded by black smoke, internal lights off, engines completely powered down. Only the small box-shaped vehicle tugging the plane gently to the proper docking point was alive and working, and the driver appeared to be very nervous.

"See, guys?" Cindy said, forcing joy and hope into her voice. "The plane is fine. They're all okay, I know it."

The plane docked, the gate extending to join with the plane's door. As soon as the tunnel merged with the plane, a large cloud of black smoke floated into the terminal, the acrid stench of burning fuel and shrapnel causing most of the crowd to wrinkle its noses. The passengers then began departing the plane. Half of the people had evacuated by the time Libby came into view, her carry-on bag slung carelessly over her shoulder, eyes searching the crowd. The trio was not hard to find, however, as Sheen began jumping up and down like he had springs in his legs, shouting her name comically. She laughed and ran to them, hugging everyone and saving a kiss for her boyfriend's cheek. But even as Sheen locked hands with her, the question came up via Carl:

"Where's Jimmy?"

Libby looked around worriedly. "He said he was going to talk to the pilots and would be out soon..."

But the pilots emerged without Jimmy, and Carl began to visibly get nervous. Cindy was equally nervous, but hid her emotions behind a grit-iron determination to remain impassive.

Finally, after much time and impatience (and worry), Jimmy emerged, his carry-on slung over his shoulder calmly, Goddard at his heels. The only indicator that he had been doing something before emerging was the light layer of sweat on his forehead that was rapidly fading in the cool ambiance of the room and the slight tangle of his usually coiffed hair. Carl cried out in happiness when he saw his friend and tackled the boy to the floor, knocking the breath out of them both. Sheen joined soon after, creating a large, noticeable dogpile of adults splayed on the floor. Jimmy couldn't help but laugh at the situation he found himself in, even as he lay beneath Carl's large body and weight and Sheen's wriggling mass, with not much breath to be passed through his lungs. He finally managed to shake the others off and stood, dusting himself off, giving them high-fives and hugs. He moved to join the group, but was suddenly confronted by a girl slightly shorter than he, with golden-blonde hair and sparkling chartreuse eyes. He opened his mouth and received a sharp, but painless, slap on the cheek.

"That's for making me worry, Neutron!" she cried at him, anger and relief laced into her words. Jimmy chuckled, shaking his head.

"I-"

She put her finger to his open mouth, whispering "not here" before bending over and rubbing Goddard's head gratefully.

"So, should we get going to dinner?" Jimmy called.

"Jimmy, we just got off a plane that could have killed us. Why don't we at least go home and get cleaned up a bit, hmm?" Libby voiced.

He mulled it over quickly. "Alright. Agreed. Should we just meet up at the restaurant, then?"

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I'm picking Libby up," Sheen said, puffing his chest out importantly. Libby smiled, rolling her eyes out of sight from her eager boyfriend. He could be such a dork, but it was one of the things that drew her to him.

"I can get there on my own," Carl volunteered. Which only left Jimmy and Cindy. She coughed.

"Well, I don't know about getting to the restaurant, but I'll run Neutron home since he lives right across the way," she said, an expression on her face that said she really didn't want to be in a car with Jimmy, let alone drive him home.

"I don't know that that's necessary, Cindy. Goddard can fly me home-"

"Jimmy, I'd stay on the ground if I were you," Libby warned. "Flying seems to only ever get us all in trouble, no matter who it's with or what it's on."

Jimmy sighed. "Duly noted. Fine, I'll go with Cindy," he responded, putting on a facade that he would not enjoy the ride. A good look at his irises, however, would tell a totally different story, one of shock and hope.

"Right. That's settled. How are you two getting to the restaurant, then?" Libby pressed.

"We'll figure something out," Jimmy replied, closing the conversation. "Shall we?"

He strolled toward the baggage claim, immediately locating Libby's synthesizer case and guitar sling. He retrieved them both and attempted to return them to Libby, but Sheen took hold of them both before Libby could step forward.

"You've already got something to carry, Libs. I can't let you hurt yourself."

She giggled, covering her mouth with her hand. "You really know how to please a girl, Sheen."

He grinned. Jimmy turned away from the proceedings just in time to catch sight of his suitcase sliding past. He slid it gently from the retrieval area and moved to set it down, where it then hovered inches above the ground, following behind Jimmy like a dog on a leash. Goddard used the luggage bag as a bed and laid himself down to rest on it.

"Alright, Cindy. Lead the way," Jimmy said, gesturing calmly forward up a flight of stairs. She traipsed ahead of him, leading the group of five up the stairs and across the street. Libby and Sheen got into a very lengthy argument about whether or not a car could drive faster than an airplane could fly. Carl added his opinions whenever he got a chance, but Jimmy and Cindy were neglect to participate in the discussion. Jimmy was intent on following the blonde girl, just as she was intent to get back to her car and...and...she didn't know what she wanted to do past that.

She crossed the street and popped the trunk of her car open with the remote. She then jumped over the door and into the driver's seat of the car and started the engine. The passenger door opened beside her and Jimmy slid into the seat, strapping the seatbelt securely.

Cindy backed the car out of the stall, exiting the garage quickly and quietly. Once they merged onto the freeway, Jimmy cleared his throat.

"Cindy...I-"

"Jimmy...You don't have to say anything."

"I feel like I do, though. It's been three years-"

"But I don't want an apology. If you wanted to apologize, you're about two years too late."

He sighed. "I never meant to hurt you, Cindy."

"What makes you think you hurt me," she asked stiffly.

"Your whole aura. Everything about you, from the moment I came into your sight, has been loaded with contempt and pain for the past. I can already say that I know that I hurt you, Cindy."

"But you didn't bother to change it, Neutron," she said darkly as she changed lanes, dodging between two other cars which honked in annoyance at her. "You knew what would happen and you did it anyways."

"I had to, Cindy!" he cried woefully. "I never meant to hurt you, but I had to say what I did because I couldn't bear the thought of you missing me over the three years I've been gone."

"And why the hell would you think I would miss _you, _the one who caused me so much pain nad suffering?" she scoffed angrily.

"Because I missed you," he replied quietly. He hung his head, staring at his thumbs as he swirled them around each other. She went silent, and all anger left her. She was touched. _Neutron...missed me?_

"I did what I had to because I couldn't stand the thought of you missing me like I would miss you. If we were still together for those three years...I only did what I thought was best for us."

"Jimmy...you broke my heart," she whimpered, hands shaky on the wheel. They both knew they were entering a very sensitive area of discussion, but they both knew it was now or never.

"I...I'm sorry, Cindy. I can only imagine the pain it must have caused you-"

"No, you can't, Neutron," she growled, her anger returning. She changed into the carpool lane, managing to keep her speed under control despite her growing vehemence. "You can't imagine what that did to me, the night of our graduation. We were supposed to be on top of the world, and you...you _tossed me aside! _Like I was a toy you no longer wanted to play with!"

"It wasn't like that!" he protested indignantly. He sighed, struggling to calm down. "It wasn't like that. I knew you well enough to know how you would react, but I had to pull away, Cindy. I had to. Because I cared for you too much to want to hurt you by staying together and dealing with the consequences. At least if we were apart, in distance and in heart...it would be easier to deal with."

She swallowed, a knot in her throat. She was still angry, but sorrow had also set in to contend with the roiling magma within her. "You broke my heart, Jimmy. I died inside that night, when you told me that you had to leave me. It was our _graduation night! _You could have waited a little while and _then_ brought the news to me and it would have gone better-"

"You and I both know it would only have made it worse. I had to do it on the night I left, Cindy. I had to. And you may not understand why, but I had to do it for your sake."

"For MY sake?"

"Yes, for your sake. My belief was that being with me while I was away would make you worry about me and make you stress about how long I'd been gone or how I was doing or if I was inventing again. At least if you weren't with me in any way, you wouldn't have a justifiable excuse to worry. It wouldn't put pressure on you to try and be a good girlfriend."

"A good girlfriend? Jimmy...I was a _horrible _girlfriend! You were always calling me, texting me, messaging me, keeping in touch, asking how I was. You did everything, and I just sat there and let you! I didn't take any initiative whatsoever!"

"You were an amazing girlfriend, Cindy. All that mattered was that you were mine. I was the one who was wrong. I was the one who caused pain. And I have no excuse, nor anything to say, other than that I am truly, deeply, sorry. And I mean that with all my heart."

"How can I credit that?" she asked shakily. "How can I take that to be true when you've immersed yourself in fact and science? You're a _scientist, _Jimmy. You're a _genius. _Everything to you is numbers and facts and test data. For you to say that you mean something with all your heart is like...is like telling Carl not to eat a banana-cream pie that's staring him in the face."

Jimmy smiled weakly at her attempt at humor. It was a fairly good joke, but he wasn't much in a mood to laugh. The air was too grim.

"Cindy...I don't care what you may say to the contrary. I loved you. I meant it every time I said it. That's why we were together our entire senior year of high-school and I only started saying it when we reached the fourth month. Because I didn't really know how I felt until then. I didn't even really believe we were together until the second month came around. It wasn't easy for me to come to terms with myself, Cindy. You're right. I do live for facts and numbers and data. But seeing how happy Sheen and Libby were back then and how happy they are now...and how alone you seemed behind your hardened facade against the world...I already knew that you were my friend and my rival when we were kids, but in high-school, everything changed. You weren't 'Vortex' anymore with a negative connotation, you were 'Cindy' with a mature, sophisticated, proud connotation."

She could almost feel her cheeks start glowing and recognized the amount of personal effort it had taken him to say all that he had. She sighed, trying to break the mood.

"But if you cared for me so much...why didn't you take me with you?"

"I couldn't. You had your family and your friends out here. And I didn't know if you'd fit in or not over there."

"Why the hell wouldn't I fit in?"

Jimmy gritted his teeth, preparing for an outburst. "Because...everyone there sees me as, well, a genius. They see me as both a freak and as the smartest person on campus."

"So I would have fit right in perfectly, then," she smirked.

"No...They would have labeled you as an outcast. You would have been condemned because they would have insulted your intelligence."

"Insulted my...I'm not an idiot, Neutron!"

"To everyone on that campus except me, you would be."

She fumed. "Then they can all go burn alive and choke on maggots."

"They said the same thing about me. I didn't want you to be there and see them because they hate me for my brains. They hate me because I'm smarter than they are. They hate me because I'm a freshman and I'm the top scorer in senior-level classes."

"Maybe you don't know me so well, then, Neutron, but that's one of the reasons I always insulted you. I will be honest and say...I'm jealous of you."

He blanched, staring at his hands in stunned silence. She pursed her lips, focusing on traffic, slowly making her way to the appropriate exit lane. Jimmy sighed as she got off the freeway and stopped at a red light.

"Cindy...I'm sorry."

He then leaned back in the seat and stared out the side of the car, gazing at nothing, not wanting to catch Cindy's eye. She held her resolve, a mixed tumult of emotions washing over one another. Finally, after a long and uncomfortable silence, she pulled her car into the driveway apron before her house. She put the car in park and killed the motor, extricating the key from its slot.

The trunk popped open and Jimmy stepped out of the car, retrieving his carry-on, suitcase, and dog from the rear of the car. Goddard barked a greeting at him and wagged his tail happily, tongue lolling out the side of his mouth. Jimmy couldn't help but smile; Goddard was as comical as he was logical. The canine barked and bolted across the street, sitting impatiently outside the front door of the Neutron residence. Jimmy shut the trunk gently and forced himself to look into Cindy's chartreuse irises.

"Jimmy." she stated. He waited a moment, but she said nothing. He lowered his carry-on onto his floating suitcase and stepped forward, their eyes still locked.

"Thanks for the ride home, Cindy," he murmured.

"Anytime," she returned.

Suddenly, he was embracing her, holding her close to him, and she reacted by wrapping her own arms around him. They held each other for a brief moment. Jimmy stepped back, a half-smile on his face.

"I'll see you tonight, Cindy."

"Do you want me to drive you?"

He blinked at the offer. She couldn't bring herself to look at him and instead jammed her hands into her capri pockets.

"Are you sure? I'm going to get a car within the next couple of days, and the restaurant isn't too far..."

"If you want a ride, I'll give it."

He stared at her, almost in disbelief. Finally, he swallowed and nodded.

"Alright. I'd like that very much. Thanks, Cindy."

He slowly retrieved his carry-on and made his way gradually down the driveway. Cindy watched his back recede from her for a moment before locking the car and mounting the steps to her front door. She shut the door behind her and Jimmy turned around, midway across the street. He sighed, shoulders drooping.

"Well, that's that."

And with that, he crossed the rest of the street and strode up the front steps to his own door.

"Ready boy?"

Goddard nodded, tongue still lolling from his mouth. Jimmy sucked in a breath of air and knocked three times on his front door.


	3. Secondary First Impressions

_**SORRY FOR THE QUICK UPDATE. I've realized that the asterisks I include in the story to signify a time-lapse or perspective change do not translate into FFN. :(**_

_**A/N: I had to end the chapter where I did because in OpenOffice it's listed as being at nine-and-a-half pages long. I had originally hoped to post this chapter yesterday evening by 10:00 Pacific Standard Time, but I missed that deadline by almost twenty-four hours. Still, I'm not too dissatisfied with how it turned out.**_

_**To those who are wondering, I have intentionally not stated anything specific about their argument for a reason. Hopefully next chapter will give a small bit more insight, but I believe I am going to be bringing Cindy's career into play, of which I am still mildly uncertain. For those of you who are reading this story with eagerness and ferocity and all the things I love about my readers, I ask you this: Should her career be based on her heart, or on her mind? The decision between the two will create a great change in the story's direction, but I want the readers to decide if they can. I have ideas for both, and I promise you, they both will put different scopes of focus on the argument that took place three years earlier. :)**_

_**Enough rambling from me. Now, go read and tell me what you think! **_

* * *

_He missed me...I can't believe he missed me._

Cindy stowed her car keys in her front capri pocket, the remote making a noticeable bulge. She stepped out of her shoes and left them beside the front door, stepping lightly into the kitchen in her clean white socks. Her mother stood over the stove, stirring what smelled to be noodles in a pot of boiling water.

"Ah, Cynthia, I thought I heard you come in. Everything go alright with your walk, dear?"

"Just fine, mom," she returned, cracking open the fridge. The only thing that caught her interest was a gallon of milk sitting in the corner, which she reached for and set on the counter.

"Cynthia, you don't have to be so prim with me. I've missed you this whole time you've been away."

Cindy had located a cup and proceeded to pour milk into it. "I'm sorry, mom...everything's just kinda crazy right now. I mean, I just got back, met my friends, saw my...my..." _my what? _she mused, drinking deeply from the cup.

"Your what, dear?"

"My elementary school. That's where I went for my walk," she said, inventing wildly.

"Ah, yes. I remember that old dump. I used to loathe having to send you there. It made me feel poor to say that my daughter had to go to public school.

_If I hadn't gone, I never would have met any of my friends. I never would have bonded with Jimmy. Even if we do live right across the street from one another._

"So, Cynthia, what are your plans for the evening?"

"Um, well," she spoke into the cup. "My friends and I had planned a dinner at a restaurant as a sort of 'welcome home' get-together. We haven't seen each other in about three years, you know."

Sasha sighed, removing the plastic spoon from the broth and placing it on a paper towel beside the stove. The apron did nothing to hide her slight girth as she turned to face her daughter. "Are we going to be having any mother-daughter time, dear? Or are you going to spend most of the summer gallivanting with that boy across the street? You know I don't like him, don't you?"

Cindy sighed, placing the empty glass in the sink, the milk mustache disappearing into her sleeve. "Yes mom, I'm well aware."

"Well, you would do well to stay away from him. How many times has that boy tried to blow up the town?"

"He's saved it more than he's harmed it," she returned defensively. Even her mother could not mistake the hurt laced into her words. Sasha sighed.

"You're at perfect liberty to do what you wish, dear. I don't know what it is you see in him or what you two have to share together, but...there must be something that you know that I don't." She sighed again, gazing into her daughter's eyes. "Do you need me to drive you to the restaurant?"

"No mom, it's okay. I've gotta go upstairs and get ready, but I'm going to drive myself."

"Alright, dear. It's hard to believe my little girl is all grown up," the woman said forlornly, giving her daughter a gentle hug. "But I suppose I should have seen it coming. If only your father could be here to see you now."

"Mom, it's okay. Don't think about the past. What happened happened, and that's that."

Sasha nodded, and turned back to her noodles. Cindy slipped past her and up the stairs. Once she was in the privacy of her own room, she gently tugged her socks off and deposited them in the waste hamper. She glanced out the window at the Neutron home, seeing the upstairs light on. _Wait...wasn't it a single-story house? No, it's always been a two-story house. How could I forget something so obvious?_

She slid her shirt over her head, frustrated with herself. It all came back to Jimmy in the end. The shirt landed in the hamper, followed quickly by her capris. _Why can't I get him out of my head?_

She unzipped her suitcase and drew out a strapless bra and some comfortable lace panties. At least if she was going to go to a nice restaurant, she should dress somewhat nice, right? And with that, she migrated to the bathroom for her shower.

Three knocks sounded on the door.

"Honey, could you get that?" Hugh called. He was sitting on the couch polishing a wooden duck, exactly the way he always spent every afternoon. The sound of his wife's sigh from the kitchen met his ears.

"Alright, alright."

She strode to the door and unlocked it, ignoring the peephole, before opening it. Standing on the porch was a handsome young man with brown hair and blue eyes, and beside him was a small mechanical dog. Judy gasped.

"Jimmy?"

"Oh good. You recognize me," he laughed, hugging his mother warmly. Goddard barked and leapt over the threshold, jumping immediately into Hugh's lap, who had fortunately placed the wooden duck and polishing rag back on the coffee table. The man laughed at the dog's obvious excitement and scratched him behind the ears just as he liked.

"Well, it's good to see my parents haven't changed."

"As opposed to you who has, Jimmy," his mother commented. "It's been three years, and you're no longer the little boy I remember. You're like your father."

Hugh stood up as Goddard moved to sitting on the couch. He approached his son, a grin on his face.

"So, how's England?"

"Everyone there has an accent and a parka, but the two are completely unrelated," he chuckled, hugging his father. He let go of the man and sighed.

"Three years since I left, and now I'm here again. Where does the time go?"

"Well, I tell you what," Judy said disapprovingly. "You need some fattening up, Jimmy."

"On any other night, I would welcome your food, mom," he said, grinning. "But my friends kinda cooked up a plan for us all to go out to dinner tonight to celebrate the beginning of our summer vacation together. Sorta like a 'welcome back' party."

Judy giggled. "I'm glad to see that you're all still friends after all this time. Well, if you're leaving soon, you know where the shower is, but I don't think any of your old clothes will fit you," she chuckled.

"Don't worry, mom. I have everything I need in the suitcase," he said, gesturing to it as it glided up the stairs toward his room. "I'll tell you guys all about Oxford and the people there and everything that's happened, but maybe I can keep you waiting until morning?"

Both parents laughed. "Sure thing, Jimbo," his father quipped. "Go have a good time with your friends. You deserve a night with them after a day of exams, after all."

"Thanks, guys. I promise I'll tell you everything."

"Don't worry about us, get up there and get a shower," his mother playfully reprimanded. Jimmy needed no further instruction and took the stairs two at a time.

_It's seven-thirty. Where is he?_

Cindy sat in her room on her bed impatiently, smoothing out her dress just to give herself something to do. She was wearing a strapless dress that only hung to her knees, but it was black and had sparkles woven into the fabric, giving her a majestic and alluring appearance. She sighed.

"Neutron..."

The doorbell rang. She clicked down the stairs in her black stilettos, brushing a strand of curled hair out of her face, wondering why she hadn't included the two strands that framed her face in the tight blonde bun she'd put the rest of her hair into. She paused at the door to smooth her dress out once again, then opened it slowly and peeked outside, as if unsure of who to expect. Her jaw dropped.

"Jimmy...?"

"Surprised?"

He was wearing black suede shoes with matching black cotton socks, midnight blue slacks, and a red button-up shirt that perfectly accented the sapphire-blue sport-coat that hung on his shoulders, draped carefully and precisely. Cindy couldn't say so out loud, but mentally she had to slap herself. _Wow, does he know how to dress._

"I didn't know how formal we were supposed to dress, so I chose something that was slightly casual and modest."

"I think it'll be fine," Cindy stated, grasping for her purse. She finally grabbed hold of it and pulled it from the hook on the wall, slinging it gently under her arm, the strap draped loosely across her bare shoulder. She could almost feel his gaze burning into her skin as she shut the door and stepped down to the driveway.

"So, are you ready to go?"

"Ready as ever," he replied, stepping quietly over to the car. She unlocked it via remote and he opened her door from his seat, smiling at her as she sat down. _A proper gentleman...his parents raised him well._

She started the car and pulled out onto the road, the cool breeze playing around their faces as she once again merged onto the freeway to head north toward the restaurant.

"I hope Sheen found Libby in the Ivy Heights. It's not easy getting in and out of there."

"Knowing him, he's probably knocked on the same little old lady's door twice," Jimmy returned, chuckling. They again lapsed into silence as the car sped down the empty highway. Jimmy couldn't help but glance at Cindy; she was absolutely gorgeous. The dress was nearly skin-tight and left little to the imagination, but she looked sophisticated, like a business woman, not like a slut or a hooker out for a one-night stand. He was very pleasantly surprised.

Which was also true of Cindy. Twice, she found herself trying to catch glimpses of him out of the corner of her eye as she drove down the freeway, and twice she found it hard to look away from him. He looked like he was ready for a press conference or a business meeting, very proud and very strong, with a can-do aura. He looked very professional for dressing somewhat 'casual'.

"Cindy...I feel very foolish."

"Why is that, Jimmy?"

"Well...I can't help but stare when I see you."

Both of them felt their cheeks grow warm. Jimmy felt embarrassed at his forwardness, but Cindy felt proud that she'd caught his eye. _He wasn't lying when he said he missed me. He also wasn't lying when he said that I missed him back. _

"Er...thanks?"

"I'm sorry...that was a bit forward of me to say."

"No, no, it's alright. For once you're not letting your science do the talking."

"Well...yeah." He decided it wasn't worth the risk of breaking the cheerful atmosphere they finally found themselves in.

"So, are you excited to be back in Retroville for the summer?" Cindy asked cautiously.

"Nothing I like more than searing heat and blinding sunshine," he chuckled. "Actually, it should be a nice change to be warm down here rather than cold in England. It is almost always a cloudy forecast over there."

"No kidding. Harvard and New York City aren't exactly the desert either."

"Really? I thought it would be a bit warmer up there than in England."

"Probably not by much. Every day during the winter-time was accompanied by two shirts, two jackets, three pairs of pants, and thick fur-lined boots."

"Wow. At least Oxford had central heating and on-campus dorms."

"Lucky."

Jimmy smiled, gazing out the windshield at the empty road before them. It wasn't completely deserted, but there was next-to-zero traffic, and at eight o'clock on a comfortably warm Friday evening the car's occupants found this to be a tad odd.

"Is it just me," Jimmy started, "or is it really empty out here tonight?"

"It's not just you. It's almost like a ghost town."

"Ghost-freeway, more like."

They again laughed lightly at the attempted humor, although the very pregnant silence that followed served only to discomfort them. Finally, and for the second time that day, Jimmy cleared his throat.

"Cindy, about earlier-"

"Jimmy, let's not go there," she replied hesitantly. "I...I'm not really...just...not tonight," she finished awkwardly, unable to find the words.

She felt his hand give her forearm a gentle squeeze. "Okay," he replied.

"Okay?" she asked, glancing at him with a raised eyebrow. "No pushing, no 'please, Cindy', no nothing? Just 'okay'?"

"You said, and I quote, 'not tonight', so I decided to drop it. Would you rather I resume what I had tried to say?"

"No...it's just...I'm not used to hearing you give up on a conversation before someone jumps down your throat about it. Especially when talking to me."

"You sound miffed. Maybe you forgot that I grew up a bit more, got a bit smarter, changed a bit from when I was eighteen?"

"It's just hard to believe, that's all," she snapped. "I didn't say it was any big deal."

"You certainly acted like it was," Jimmy replied placidly.

Cindy gripped the wheel a bit tighter, but then sighed and relaxed, flicking her turn signal to change lanes. "You're right. I'm sorry."

"I'm right AND you're sorry?" Now Jimmy had a raised eyebrow.

"Jimmy, I'm just so confused, and I can't tell you why, not after everything that's happened. I just want a nice evening with our friends, a genuine celebratory 'welcome home' dinner for you and Libby."

"What about you? Didn't you just get back in today also?"

"I didn't almost die while onboard a plane."

"We could have flown another fifty miles at least. The point is that you also got back in town and this dinner is as dedicated to you as it is to myself and Libby."

Cindy sighed. "Fine."

"Don't make things tougher than they have to be, Cindy."

"I don't-" she started, then paused, aligning the car with the proper exit ramp. She huffed as they sloped upward to meet the intersection that connected them with the street.

"I don't do it on purpose, Jimmy. You know that."

"Last I checked, you said I didn't know you that well," he taunted. She could hear the teasing note in his voice and rolled her eyes.

"And of course, only you would have space in that brain of yours to remember what the hell I said a few hours ago."

Jimmy grinned, still looking out the windshield, now at the red light they had paused for. He said nothing, just sat and smiled, letting his grin slowly and calmly fade until he had regained his normal skeptical composure. Cindy had literally and unintentionally forced him to walk on eggs with whatever he would have chosen to say next, had he spoken. But even as the light turned green and Cindy made the left-turn across the overpass, he held his resolve and the car remained silent even as they drove up behind the restaurant and parked. Cindy killed the motor and stepped out, her high heels clicking on the asphalt as she strode to the doors. Jimmy strolled comfortably along, not bothering to keep up with her rather quick stride. She paused at the door, giving Jimmy a loaded look.

"Why are you all-of-a-sudden moving so slowly?"

"Not all of a sudden, Cindy. This is how normal people walk."

"Normal people? You mean I'm abnormal?"

"Well, there really is no such thing as normal," he replied as he stepped up to the door, grasping the handle firmly. "But what I'd meant to say is that it's not a race to get inside first," he finished, winking at her jovially. She smacked him gently on the arm with her purse, at which point he opened the door and gestured her inside.

"After you, _mademoiselle._"

"Charming," she called over her shoulder. "Too bad you never really learned French."

"_J'ai appris le français à Oxford simplement pour voir si je pouvais_," he replied. "But since you never asked, and there's never been an occasion to use it, nobody knows."

Cindy gawked at him. _How...?_

Jimmy approached the seating podium, lightly grasping Cindy's hand to gently tug her along behind him. "Hello, sir, we're here under the reservation made by Sheen Estevez."

"Estevez...Estevez...Ah! Table nineteen. Allow me to direct you there," the employee quipped. He had short black hair spiked lightly upward and appeared to be of Asian descent, his black vest the perfect match to his hair and a rather fitting accent to the navy-blue long-sleeved dress shirt he wore beneath. His silver watch glinted under the dim half-lit overhead lights as he grasped hold of two thick menu books. He smiled warmly at the couple, Jimmy who was intrigued, Cindy who was still gawking.

"Right this way, if you please," he called gently. Jimmy pulled lightly on Cindy's hand, and she slid out of her reverie and back to the present, where she was being led carefully by Jimmy to their predetermined table. She realized he had a gentle grip on her hand, but never bothered to extricate herself from it, instead contenting herself to feel the warm steadiness of his presence. It was soothing and exciting at the same time.

"Table nineteen, as promised," the man said, gesturing to a booth with a wrap-around leather bench surrounding it. Carl waved cheerfully as the couple moved to sit down. He looked very dashing in his red, short-sleeved button-up dress shirt and black slacks.

"Wow, Carl. I didn't think you'd be the type to dress up," Jimmy commented, a bit floored at his friend's appearance.

"Well, I've found it slims me down a bit and it makes me feel professional," he replied, shrugging it off as though it were a regular occurrence (which Jimmy guessed it was from his mannerisms).

"So, where's Sheen and Libby?"

"Sheen said they ran into traffic on the freeway and they were running a little late."

Both Jimmy and Cindy found this to be very humorous. Carl didn't understand why.

"What's so funny about traffic?"

"There isn't any," Jimmy replied. Carl tilted his head a bit.

"But Sheen said-"

"Carl, we just got off the freeway. How do you think we got here?"

He thought about it for a moment. "Wait...so Sheen lied to me?"

"Not only that, but he and Libby-"

"Got it," Carl cut in, his cheeks slightly pink. Jimmy couldn't help but chuckle.

"Sorry, Carl. I was just trying to get you to laugh. It's been so long since we've all been together, and you look like you could do with a few giggles."

Carl shook his head a bit, as if ridding it of thoughts. "Giggles...right..."

"You okay, buddy?"

"I'll be alright in a minute, Jim. You're right; it has been a while."

Carl sipped the water from the glass before him while Jimmy mentally slapped himself. _Not the best impression to make on your newly-reacquainted friends, genius._ He flipped open his menu and began perusing the entrees.

"What do you think, Carl?"

"Huh?"

"What are you having?"

"Oh, I was just going to have some of the salmon they flew in today. I hear that it was hand-picked in Alaska when it was going upstream for the season. The waiter said it would taste really good."

"Maybe I'll have to give that a try," Cindy mused, slowly combing through the menu. Jimmy returned to looking over the various meals that were offered and grinned inwardly when he saw one particular item on the list that he'd not had since his eighteenth birthday.

"They still have it," he muttered softly. Cindy touched his hand.

"Still have what?" she whispered. Jimmy grinned.

"You'll see," he replied with a wink. She laid her hand back in her lap, letting her menu close and land on the table with a _flump_. Jimmy did likewise and gazed around the restaurant, staring at nothing in particular as he waited for Sheen and Libby to arrive. Cindy, however, was growing a bit bored.

"So, Carl, what is it you've been doing since graduation?"

"Oh, well, first, my mom signed me up for a local community college to start getting my basics out of the way. I took a cooking class as an elective and I ended up liking it very much. The professor said I was a natural at it, so I signed up for a cook-off in Austin and participated in that, which I ended up winning, too. I was surprised, but my mom and I loved it. Dad thought it was great that I was getting away from llamas a bit, but he doesn't know that I go to the zoo every Sunday afternoon to volunteer as a zookeeper for the llamas.

"Anyways, mom signed me up for a live television cook-off between me and ten other amateur chefs who live in the United States just to see what I could do. We had to make a bread, a soup, and a dessert in three hour's time, even though the television program cut it down to one hour of showing time. I made a cheese-flavored pan bread on a plate of lettuce leaves and tomato slices, a homemade version of New England Clam Chowder, using the specified ingredient of cauliflower as a substitute for the corn, and a small coffee cake with peach juice and cinnamon."

"Carl, that sounds delicious," Cindy said, swallowing heavily as her tastebuds reacted. "You won, right?"

"I got second place," Carl said, smiling gleefully. "I didn't really want to win anyways, but I got second only because the pan bread didn't have enough salt on it. I lost to a young Swedish girl who had made something from her own country, something I can't even remember the name of. She told me I should have won, but I have to say, her food was just as delicious, if not more so."

"Carl, why didn't you want to win?"

"The winner was immediately whisked away to go to Paris, where they would compete with nine other chefs from around the world who had won their country's competition. That little Swedish girl went to Paris and got to sight-see a bit, but in the end had to slave once again over a hot stove, making some other food from who knows where."

"Why didn't you want that, though?"

"I didn't want to leave home, to be honest. My mom was proud of me and everything, but I wasn't quite ready to go anywhere at that time. But, I got back in town a month ago after spending a month in D.C. I was called there by someone who knew the producer of the show to help cook for the President."

"What?"

"Yeah. I was instructed to make his desserts. And he asked for a LOT of desserts when I got there. I heard tell that the previous guy was elderly and on his way out, so they needed a temp while they requested a new pastry chef. But I always had something for the President to eat, whether it was triple-fudge brownies, or coffee cake, or cookies, or cupcakes, or-"

"Hey guys. Sorry we're late."

The whole table directed its attention at Libby, who was sliding into the booth with Sheen on her heels. She looked very stunning in her sparkling teal dress with her hair curled and lifted. Sheen also looked very professional, with a leather jacket accenting a white dress-shirt and black slacks. Jimmy looked them both up and down as they took their seats and suddenly felt very under-dressed for the occasion. However, he was powerless to change anything.

"What took you so long?" Jimmy asked, faking obliviousness.

"We got stuck in traffic after Sheen got lost looking for the exit."

"Hey, nobody told me it was the same way I came in."

"Sheen, that's usually where the exit is," Libby replied, exasperatedly.

"Well...why would I go in an exit? It's like trying to eat with-"

"Okay, we don't need the image!" Cindy called, holding her hand up in a manner that said to 'stop'. Sheen fell silent. Libby giggled.

"Interesting analogy," Cindy commented thoughtfully.

"But we'd rather not make Carl sick again," Jimmy replied delicately.

"Again?"

_Oops..._ "We...nevermind."

Libby raised an eyebrow, but did not comment. "So, what looks good?"

"I'm ordering the salmon," Carl volunteered. "The waiter said it was delicious and was flown in today from Alaska."

"I think I'm going to have some of that salmon, too," Cindy followed, inclining her head to gaze at her now-steepled fingers.

"And I'm giving no hints about what I've chosen," Jimmy finished, a smug smile on his face. Cindy sighed.

"Prick."

"What? You're getting mad just because I won't tell you what I'm ordering?"

"No, because you're so smug about it. It's just food."

"I could say the same thing back to you, Cindy. You're the one making a fuss of it."

She silently touched her forehead to her fingers, fuming within her mind. _It's not the food, genius. It's so much more than that._

"Well, I decided that the souffle will fill me up," Libby said, breaking the modest silence of the table (although the room itself was humming with low, conversing voices).

"And...I think I'll have the number five combo."

"Isn't that the carne asada dish?"

"Yup."

Libby gained a thoughtful expression on her face. As though by perfect timing, a waiter strolled over right as Sheen stacked his menu atop Libby's in the center of the table (as they'd borrowed Cindy and Jimmy's menus when they'd arrived, the employee not having been present).

"Welcome to the Bountiful Hothouse, where we make just about everything to satisfy your tastebuds. Have you all decided what you'd like to drink?"

The waiter flipped his long, dark hair over his shoulder, scooping the menus off the table nonchalantly. He turned to Carl first.

"Hmm...how about an Acid Rain?"

"Ahh, excellent choice. Premixed, or personal preference?"

"Personal preference, if you don't mind."

"Not at all, not at all. For you, sir?" he quipped, turning to Jimmy.

"Can I get a Rumple Minze with a light cinnamon mixture?"

"Of course, sir. Twenty-point, thirty-point, or fifty-point?"

"Make it thirty. Fifty's too strong."

"As you wish, sir. And for you, m'lady?"

"Can I get a Wild Spirit?"

"Absolutely. Premixed, or personal preference?"

"Premixed, fifty-fifty."

"Shaken or stirred?"

"I didn't know you could shake it...but I'll take stirred nonetheless."

"Excellent. For you, miss?"

"Hmm..." Libby thought for a second before her eyes lit up. "You wouldn't happen to have any Razzmatazz, would you?"

"As a matter of fact, we just got a new crate of it in today. I can make absolutely certain that you have the freshest of the batch, if you'd like."

"I would like that very much, sir," she replied, grinning widely. He nodded.

"And finally, for you, sir?"

"Got anything with Purple Flurp in it?"

"We have an excellent margarita mix that utilizes Flurp, sir."

"What kind of taste does it have?"

"It's a little bit sour, but that's only because we don't add any sugar to it. However, you are able to add sugar for balance if you wish."

"Alright. I'll try that."

"Very well. Allow me to restate your drinks so I am sure I have them. We have one Acid Rain for this gentleman on the end, a Rumple Minze with thirty-point cinnamon, a stirred half-and-half Wild Spirit, a fresh Razzmatazz for this elegant young lady, and a Purple Margarita for this other gentleman on the end. Yes?"

"One-hundred percent correct, sir. You're very good at remembering," Jimmy commented, impressed. The waiter smiled humbly.

"I believe that if I focus on the faces of a small group and remember what they have to say, it makes a greater impression on them and boosts their want to come back a second time. It adds a sense of personal relation because I take the time to focus on what the customers are saying. However, the larger the group, the tougher it is to remember."

"I can imagine. Thank you very much, sir."

"Not a problem at all, sir," the waiter responded, bowing slightly and departing the table, menus under his arm. Cindy immediately turned to Jimmy.

"Alright, spill. What the hell is a Ruffle Minge?"

"Rumple Minze," he corrected. "It's a 100-proof German peppermint schnapps. It's very delicious. I prefer mine with cinnamon for added flavor and spice."

Cindy gawked. "Fifty percent alcohol? Jimmy, since when do you drink?"

"Relax, relax. It's a nice night, we're all here together, and we should have a good time, right?"

"Well, yeah, but we don't have to get wasted to do it."

"I can hold my liquor just fine, Cindy," he replied with a smile. She shook her head, still staring at him.

"This isn't possible. You're Jimmy Neutron, the genius who never gets in trouble!"

"And that means I can't have a little fun? I'm twenty-one, Cindy. You're sounding a bit like my mother."

She sighed. "Fine. Get drunk. See if I care."

"It's not that bad. I'm only having one drink."

Libby suddenly busted out laughing. Both arguers looked at her with raised eyebrows.

"You guys are better than a soap opera! It's like television I can watch wherever I go."

Cindy's cheeks turned pink in irritation and embarrassment. Jimmy's face remained calm and collected.

"I suppose it's a bit funny, no matter how you look at it. Just like old times."

The waiter returned, surprising all five of them with his speed. He had all five drinks on a platter as requested and delivered them to their respective owners.

"I believe this encompasses everything you requested, but if I missed something I will be more than happy to bring it to you."

Cindy sipped her drink, rolling the sweet, thick taste around in her mouth. "It's delicious," she complimented as she swallowed.

"Very," Carl added.

"Sir, if I might make a request..." Jimmy began, letting the fluid slide down his throat.

"Yes, sir?"

"This drink...is exquisite. But...what is the buttery taste I'm getting underneath it all?"

"Ah. That would be our blender's special ingredient. Whenever he mixes a specialty drink like this one, he adds in his special caramel cream."

Jimmy took another sip, a glimmer in his eyes. "Tell him that a tad bit more of his special ingredient will make this drink even better to taste. It dulls out much of the alcohol's bite. However, I can imagine that adding a bit more of the cream would also encourage customers to buy more drinks, am I right?"

"You're exactly right, sir," the waiter replied, astonished. "The blender just said the same thing to me while I was at the counter ordering."

Jimmy smiled and inclined his head. "My compliments to the brewer."

"I shall deliver them personally. Now, have you all decided on what you'll have?"

"I believe so," Jimmy replied cordially.

"Right, then, I'm ready to take your orders."

"I'll have combination number five," Sheen stated eagerly.

"How would you like your meat, sir: medium-rare, medium, medium-well, or well-done?"

"Medium. That way I get both flavor and something to chew on."

The waiter smiled in good humor. "I like your thinking, sir." He turned next to Libby.

"Might I get the souffle of the evening?"

"I believe we may have a fresh broth ready for serving, as it happens." Libby nodded and he turned to Cindy.

"Carl and I will have the Alaskan salmon plate."

"Ahh, very nice. Fresh in, you know," he said, tapping his nose with his finger. He looked lastly to Jimmy.

"Might I request the finest cut of your perfectly-seared filet mignon?"

The waiter raised his eyebrows. "Are you quite sure, sir?"

"Quite," he replied, inclining his head again. The waiter looked faint.

"As you wish. So, that's one order of combination number five medium, one order of this evening's special souffle, two orders of Alaskan salmon, and one order of our finest filet mignon, correct?"

"Entirely," Libby replied. The waiter again bowed slightly as he left the table. In an instant, four pairs of eyes focused on Jimmy.

"Are you out of your mind?" Libby hissed. She looked angry.

"We didn't come here to spend all our money, Jim," Carl said, brows furrowed.

"Dude, I don't even know what a filet mignon is, but it sounds expensive," Sheen mused.

"Filet mignon," Cindy growled, "is one of the most expensive orders of meat a person can purchase. As far as I know, it's not available for sale in any store. Neutron, are you out of your damn mind?"

"Actually, no. I'm the one covering the check this evening. Everyone calm down."

"I will NOT calm down! What if we all ordered filet mignon, huh? Then what?"

"I'd still cover it all."

She gaped. "You're bluffing."

He settled his weight on his left leg, sliding an expensive-looking leather wallet out of his right rear pants pocket. He cracked open the main compartment and withdrew a stack of what looked to be twenty one-hundred dollar bills. All four faces let their jaws drop.

"Still think I'm bluffing, Cindy?"

"Where did you get all of that?"

"Well," he answered slowly, stowing the money and wallet away. "I invented a lightbulb that will take one hundred years to burn out. It turns out, adding some cotton strands and a plastic paperclip to the filament of the bulb changes the heating distribution of the light it produces and allows it to last much longer than it would have been able to originally. I tested my theory, and when it worked, I presented it to the patent office, then had Goddard help me make ten thousand of them for immediate production and shipping. The patent was almost immediately approved, and we began selling the miracle bulbs to the public mid-January of my eighteenth year, the first year I was away in England at a junior college for my Associate's Degree."

"But you must have sold each bulb for an enormous amount of money," Cindy reasoned, still unconvinced.

"The bulb takes about twenty cents to produce, but is sold for about two dollars. I only sold my bulbs for three dollars a piece. Some of the money went toward college, some went to traveling. Some is still in my Swiss bank account."

"Un-fucking-believable," Cindy murmured.

"Now, will everyone please calm down so we can enjoy our evening?"

Just then, the food arrived. Cindy couldn't help but glare once more at the man sitting beside her, but after he offered her the first bite of the most delicious piece of meat she'd ever tasted, her anger melted away within her much like the butter atop the delicacy.


	4. Murdersome Speculation

**_A/N: I probably should have written more for this chapter; the content itself is only 5 words short of 4,000. However, 1. I was determined to update, and 2. I didn't really have much more to say about the present situation at the end. As for the Jimmy-Cindy relationship...Let's just say, the hole I'm digging for them just got about four feet deeper. In just under 4,000 words. Happy reading._**

* * *

Perhaps it was the thrill of the evening. Perhaps Jimmy was right in giving her the warning a half-hour ago. Perhaps that one last drink she'd consumed had finally gotten to her. Whatever the case, a semi-intoxicated Cindy laughed boisterously and hysterically for no reason whatsoever as she was led to her car by the much-more-sober but still-buzzed Jimmy. He had her arm around his shoulder and was crouching to support as much of her weight as possible without carrying her, as she was a tad unsteady on her heels and was tripping over her own two feet. She looked back over her shoulder, vision blurry and out-of-focus. She could vaguely make out the shapes of Libby, Sheen, and Carl all returning to the cars they'd arrived in. She hiccuped and called backwards very loudly to them.

"You guyss are great! I love you guyss sso mush!" she slurred. Jimmy sighed.

"I told you it was one too many drinks, Cindy..." he calmly and cautiously reprimanded.

"Hey, you're the one who suggessed that we have ssome fun, Shimmy. That drink wass tayssy...I want another refill."

She moved to turn around and hobble back to the restaurant, but Jimmy kept one arm around her waist and gently guided her across the asphalt lot.

"Cindy, why don't we get you home and into some pajamas so you can sleep?"

"Ssleep? How cannI ssleep like thiss? I didnn even thank the waiter!"

She again split her side as she laughed riotously for no reason.

"Shimmy, I think the waiter lovess me. Didja ssee the way he looked at me?"

"He thought you were out of your right mind," Jimmy said, opening the passenger car door and sitting the blonde down in the plush cloth seat. He clipped her belt while she hiccuped and drew circles on his arm absentmindedly.

"Maybe he thought I wassa hooker or a sslut!" she cried. Jimmy shut the door and pressed his index finger to his ear to dull out the ringing her voice had induced on his ear. He then stepped into the driver's seat and started the car, clipping his own seatbelt. Cindy leaned over and grasped hold of his arm desperately, a pleading look in her eyes.

"Shimmy, pleasse don't leave me. I don't know how I'm gonna get home..." she mumbled. Jimmy sighed and stroked her hair with the arm she held onto.

"Cindy, I'm not leaving you. I'm going to get you home and help you get changed so you can go to sleep. You need rest. It's been a long day."

"Bushoo needa sstay with meee," she whined. "I don't wanna ssleep aloooone."

"Alright, alright," he shushed, stopping the car as he approached the road. He checked left and right before exiting the tarmac and lining up with the nearby stoplight, the red glow burning into his eyes as he waited patiently to drive the drunk girl and her car back home.

"Shimmy, izzat a sstar?"

She was pointing right at the stoplight. It turned green in the next instant, and Cindy shielded her eyes.

"Sstarss don't shange colorss...it wass a UFO!"

"Don't be silly, Cindy. A UFO would be bigger than that."

She pouted for a second. "Party pooper," she mumbled. He laughed.

"I'm sorry, Cindy. I wish I could see what you see."

"Hey, how come you're driving?" she asked suddenly.

"I told you at the restaurant, I was only having the one drink. As much as I like that particular mix, I only wanted a buzz, not to lose myself. Now I'm relaxed and comfortable, and I'm going to get us both home safe.

"Annd how dijoo pay for dinner?"

"With the money I made from my lightbulbs."

She furrowed her brows, staring at her fingernails for a moment as they rested in her lap. She still held him with one hand. Then, suddenly, her hand was in his face, her fingernails reflecting light particles into Jimmy's eyes. He focused as much as possible on the road, but her hand was nearly blocking his line of sight.

"Lookit, lookit! They're SHINYYY!" she cried. She then burst into another fit of giggles, clapping her hands like a seal that just earned itself a treat. After a moment, though, she forgot what she was doing and leaned back in her seat, staring blankly ahead.

"What am I gonna do, Shimmy?"

"What do you mean?"

"I feel like a messs...I bet I look like sshit too."

"No, actually. You look the same as when the evening started, albeit you've got fatigue written all over your face."

"Ssomeone wrote on my facce? I'mma hiddem!" She swung her fist at an imaginary opponent, only to flop back into her seat as Jimmy connected with their exit ramp.

"Shimmy...are you gonna really sstay with me?"

He looked down at her as the car stopped. Her dress had ridden up higher on her thighs, almost two-thirds of the way up to her hips, while her bun of hair had become slightly unkempt from the moving about and traveling

"I will stay with you until you fall asleep."

"But Shimmyyyyyy," she whined. "I wanshoo to sstay with meeeeee..."

He sighed. "I can't do that, Cindy." The light turned green and he directed the car into a right-hand turn toward their neighborhood.

"Whyyyyy?"

"Your mother would kill me."

"My mom doessn care aboume," she pouted. "Sshe'ss jussa old lady anywayss. Le'ss have ssome fun now that you're back and I'm back and we're both back and all."

He chuckled at her degenerating train of thought. "Cindy, I'll stay until you fall asleep. I can't stay the night."

She grumbled an incoherent response as she returned to staring at her nails. Jimmy wove his way through the neighborhood, hoping to get home before Cindy could ask him to do anything else. He was already beginning to wonder if he should help her change clothes, let alone stay the night.

Finally, they pulled into her driveway. Jimmy shut the car off and stepped out lightly, moving around the car to help Cindy out. She was still awake and alert to her surroundings, but she was also not in her usual state of mind. Jimmy helped her to the front door and managed to get her inside and up the stairs without trouble, but once he got her into her room, drew the curtains shut, and flicked the light on, he was hugged around the middle from behind.

"Cindy, what are you doing?"

"I'mma hang on until you sstay with me," she said plainly. He sighed.

"I can't stay with you, Cindy. You're not yourself. I somehow don't think you'd be acting this way if you were in your right mind."

"Tha'ss wha makess it sso mush fun! You gotta sstop asking questionssso mush, Shimmy, an juss go with it."

"That was about the only thing you've said since I footed the bill that made any kind of sense," he replied, turning around in her grasp, looking her in the eyes. She gazed back up at him, pupils unfocused, hair unkempt.

"Stand up, Cindy. Be a big girl."

She did as she was told and let go of Jimmy. He reached behind her and felt for the zipper on her dress.

"Let's get you into bed," he coaxed. He pulled the zipper from the top of the dress down to where it ended just above the swell of her butt. It fell to her ankles like shed skin. She giggled, stepping out of it and her heels at once.

"Thissis the mossnaked you've ever sseen me, issnnit?"

"Yes, yes it is," he replied truthfully. He moved to her closet and found a nightgown, which he then removed from the hanger with one swift stroke of his arm. Behind him, he heard a grunt and a light _snap_ and resisted looking around.

"Cindy, what was that?"

She giggled and a strapless bra landed on the back of his head. He held the gown in one hand, picking the bra up with the other. He gulped.

"Cindy, put the nightgown on."

"You're ssuppossa look, ssilly!"

"I can't, Cindy. You're not yourself."

"I'm not gonna put it on until you getta good look."

His shoulders slumped. "Cindy, please. You're not yourself. Just put the nightgown on and lay down for bed."

"You gotta look, Shimmy! Tell me if I'm pretty."

If he wasn't flabbergasted before, he was now. "Cindy, I can't!"

"Why not? You afraid of what you're gonna ssee?"

"No, you just aren't yourself. The alcohol is messing up your mind."

"You gotta tell me if I'm pretty!" she demanded unsteadily.

"Cindy...you're always pretty, no matter what you wear or how you look. Now, please, put the nightgown on."

She grumbled and took it from his hand. "I offered you mysself and you dinneven look..."

"I can't look, Cindy."

"Why nooooot?"

"I respect you too much."

It wasn't _entirely_ the truth, but it wasn't a flat-out lie either. He had a mental war with himself about what to say and how to proceed, but in the end his curiosity won over: _just play it by ear._

"Mmmkay, I'm dresssed..."

He slowly turned to find that she had indeed slipped the nightgown on over her fairly-tanned body. Her face still had eyeliner, mascara, blush, rouge, and several other substances that Jimmy felt she didn't need in order to look pretty.

"Let's get your make-up off, Cindy. Then you can use the restroom and sleep."

She slowly made her way to the door and into the bathroom. She stood at the sink, Jimmy standing just outside the door, and stared into the mirror. She giggled.

"Thass gonna be fun to take off..."

Jimmy had already drawn a tissue from the box in Cindy's room and sprayed an orange, sweet-smelling substance from a small, handheld bottle into it. He stood behind Cindy and gently began wiping the makeup from her face. In less than two minutes, Jimmy had completely cleaned her face, with not a spot left on the tissue; the orange spray had faded away after absorbing the various chemicals. Cindy sighed.

"You take sush good care of me, Shimmy...ssometimess I donneven know why I fighwithyou..."

She wobbled a bit on her feet, giggling quietly. "Tipssy..."

"Do you think you can handle going to the bathroom by yourself?" Jimmy asked tentatively.

"Shimmy, I'm drunk, not a shild."

"I'll leave you to it, then."

He gently stepped out and shut the door, stepping away from it and back into Cindy's room. He cut the lights and pulled the curtains open a bit, gazing out the window at his house. He could very clearly see the curtains, even with the light in his own room off. _But I never opened my curtains unless I was sneaking out, so she could never see into my room._ _I wonder...has she tried to look...?_

A pair of arms wrapped themselves around his midriff for the second time that evening. A deep inhale and exhale into his back sent chills up his spine.

"You ssmell nicce," Cindy whispered, still slurring.

"And you need to go to sleep."

"Shimmy...sstay with me..."

He turned in her arms and pulled her to the bed, lying her gently beneath the covers and tucking her in comfortably. He sighed, gazing into her eyes.

"I can't stay. It wouldn't be right."

"Pleeeeeaaaasssseee?" she begged quietly, clasping his hand in hers tightly.

"Go to sleep, Cindy," he soothed. She inhaled deeply, closing her eyes. She looked very peaceful, and within a couple of moments, her hand went limp in his. He laid her hand across her stomach.

"Sweet dreams, Cindy. I'll see you soon."

She did not hear the sadness in his voice that night as he gently closed her door on his way out.

_I-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LII!_

"Owww, fuuuuhhh," Cindy moaned, groping for her phone, which she'd left in her purse on the desk in front of her mirror.

_I-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LII!_

"Son of a...my head...ughh..."

She clawed her way out of bed and across the floor, dragging herself by her forearms to her purse, where she extruded her phone.

_I-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-LI-L-BEEP!_

"Hello?"

"_Hello, this is the District Attorney Court of New York City calling for Miss Cynthia A. Vortex. Is this her?"_

"This is she," she mumbled groggily to the phone.

"_You are being summoned to serve as the head prosecuting attorney for Case JXN761. It has been requested by the defendant that you be the specified prosecuting attorney for this trial, which will take place starting Monday, June 24th, one week from this Monday the 17th."_

"This is rather sudden, is it not?"

"_We at the District Attorney Court offer our sincerest apologies to you, Miss Vortex, but by law we are required to ask the requested prosecuting attorney to appear before the court, should the defendant ask, and in the matter of this case, such a request has been made."_

"You DO know I've only successfully handled five trials to date?"

"_We have checked your record as a prosecuting attorney and have found that you have previously proceeded through two murder trials prior to this one. The defendant feels that you have the necessary skill to uncover evidence that will decide his fate."_

"It's a murder case?"

"_Murder in the first degree, Miss Vortex. The defendant seemed unfazed that he was being convicted and adamantly requested you to be the presiding prosecuting attorney."_

"Has he been brought into custody?" Cindy asked, her brain slowly muting out her headache as she rubbed her tired eyes.

"_He has requested not to be detained until he had your answer, and legally we cannot override his request, as stated by Law 67-"_

"I know the law," she snapped irritably.

"_We are calling you at the request of the defendant to be the presiding prosecuting attorney for this trial. What is your answer?"_

"It's a murder trial, and someone specifically requested _me? _That's a little suspicious..."

"_Will you be the presiding prosecuting attorney?"_

"Just...answer me these two questions. One, when am I expected in New York City?"

"_The investigation has already begun, but the police department and defense attorney have both agreed to suspend activity until your presence is verified within New York City by the District Attorney Court."_

"Fair enough...Two, just who exactly requested me?"

There was a hesitant pause on the other end of the line. _"The defendant claims to know you. He claims that you two attended school together and recently reintroduced yourselves."_

"I asked for a name, not a lecture," she replied grumpily.

"_The defendant's legal name is James Isaac Neutron, and he is being accused of murder in the first-degree of Oxford student Celeste Benson, with whom he was friends while she was alive."_

Cindy nearly dropped the phone. "Say his name one more time, just so I can be sure I heard you right." Her face was already drained of color, and her knees felt weak.

"_The defendant's legal name is James Isaac Neutron."_

Her blood ran cold. "I...I'll fill the role of prosecuting attorney. I will attempt to make an appearance in the District Attorney Court of New York City at ten o'clock Monday morning."

"_We will hereby declare you the presiding prosecuting attorney for the JXN671 Case."_

"Thank...you...very much...I would be...honored," she stuttered, eyes wide, gaze directed out the window.

"_Have a safe trip, and may the best of luck be with you."_

The line went dead. Cindy dropped the phone; it smacked the floor and the battery popped from the housing. She slowly limped to the window, clamping down on the sill so tightly her knuckles turned white and veins bulged in her arms.

_I have to convict...Jimmy?_

"NEUTRON!" The peals of her screaming voice echoed down the hall and out into the street. The birds in the trees fell silent, the cats and dogs all looked up, even the wind seemed to stop casting a gentle breeze over everything in shock. For, stomping from the house in her white, semi-transparent nightgown, skin pale, hair askew, eyes blazing in white-hot livid, turbulent fury, was Cindy Vortex, and she marched directly toward the small wooden shack behind the Neutron home, the entrance to the underground laboratory that Jimmy Neutron was almost guaranteed to be inside of. She slammed her fist into a red optic analyzer that mounted directly into a steel keypad on the doorframe and felt her robe nearly leave her body as she plummeted straight down the plastic tube that led to Jimmy's lair. She landed feet-first on a large, red-and-gold pillow that had been placed directly below the maw of the pipe, her gown settling around her like a large, white parachute. She immediately homed in on the figure of the man standing before her, not even three feet away, with his right shoulder pointed toward her. He held a cellular phone to his right ear, a strained expression on his face.

Cindy stood, brushing her gown straight, and stepped off the pillow, right into his line of sight. Her hands found their place on her hips, and her eyes were a-blaze with a vehemence the likes of which had never been directed at Jimmy, only at those who had scorned him that had not been she herself. However, his left hand was kneading his forehead, deep lines of thought gouged into the skin, eyes shut, expression fatigued and injured. He listened intently and with earnest to the voice on the other end of the phone, which seemed to be rattling off information faster than a bee could buzz its wings. He sighed heavily.

"I understand that, but-"

He paused again, exhaling slowly. The voice spoke for another moment before pausing.

"Yes, of course...I have no objections to that, but-"

Again, the voice buzzed in his ear, Cindy noticed that he started to look irritated, but this did nothing to decrease the magma in her veins.

"Look, I don't care one iota about when it is or how it is conducted. All I need to know is when, where, and the answer."

The voice spoke again, this time in shorter sentences. Jimmy nodded, crushing his fingernails into his temples. His eyebrows furrowed; he looked as though he'd been mortally wounded.

"I understand."

More buzzing. Cindy only grew more angry.

"Yes. Yes. Yes. No...yes. Of course." He sighed heavily as the voice buzzed one more time. "Very well. Enjoy your weekend."

He snapped the phone shut and dropped it very precisely into the pocket of his coat, which Cindy had just noticed he was still wearing. In fact, he looked as though he'd been up all night and had failed to change clothing. He scrubbed his eyes with the knuckles of his index fingers, groaning very loudly and very irately. He ran his fingers partway through his hair before finally opening his eyes. His sorrowful, confused eyes immediately bonded with Cindy's outraged, electrified ones, and he was forced to blink from the intensity.

"I'm sorry to bring you into this."

A sudden pain cascaded through his head as Cindy's fist connected with his left temple. He fell to the floor, where another fist landed in his gut. He coughed and gagged while she kicked his shin with the foot of a soccer player. He blinked twice before rejoining eye contact with her.

"Cindy...I should have told you. Last night in the car, before dinner...it's what I was going to say. It had everything to do with us, but it was in such a twisted way, and you didn't want to hear it."

She fumed, her gaze gaining tenfold in intensity. "Jimmy," she growled darkly, throat constricted, body shaking, eyes positively _glowing_ with passionate radiance as she struggled to contain herself. "I don't care how little I may have wanted to hear about anything related to us last night. Something of this magnitude and implication should not be kept from me. Do you understand?"

He moved to get up, but her foot planted on his chest; any further toward his throat, and she'd have been choking him, but he would have had a very lovely view at the Cindy he'd denied them the previous night. He sighed, closing his eyes and rubbing his face tiredly.

"Do. You. Understand. Me?"

He opened his eyes, and the sapphires they resembled pulsed with energy as his pupils dilated slightly in determination. He was deathly serious as he locked eyes with Cindy again, though this time she almost felt as though he was more passionate than she about the situation.

"I understand more than you think I do. You aren't the one being tried for murder in the first-degree."

He pushed her foot away and stood, mere inches from her; he never took his eyes from hers.

"Jimmy. You need to be one-hundred-and-ninety percent honest with me. Right here, right now. Did you murder one of your fellow Oxford classmates the day before you flew out here?"

"I will answer your question with as much possible honesty as I can: No, I did not."

Immediately, Cindy softened and fell to her knees, sobbing into her hands. Jimmy knelt beside her and slipped his hand around her shoulders.

"I have committed no crime, Cindy."

"But Jimmy, you're being called a _murderer! _Even if you didn't kill anyone, your name is blackened forever!"

"Cindy...look at me."

She sniffled, tears still gushing from her eyes down her cheeks, the hem of her nightgown soaking up the liquid easily. He gently tipped her head toward his, the index finger of his right hand under her chin. She opened her eyes as they continued to spew salty tears down her angelic face.

"Look at me, Cindy. Do I look like a murderer to you?"

She gazed deep within his eyes, deep into his pupils, which were dilated and full of worry, not for himself but for her, deep within the troubled etchings of thought on his irises, deep into the black pools of ideas and imaginative reasoning behind his eyes. She gazed for a long moment, deep into his soul, and could not bring herself to believe he was the murderer. She shook her head slowly, never breaking her stare.

"You can't be. It doesn't make sense. It's not _you. I can feel it!_"

"Did I kill Celeste Benson?"

"You told me yourself that you did not."

"Answer me. Look at me. Did I kill Celeste Benson?"

"No." There was no question, no further discussion necessary. Jimmy broke their line of sight and gently placed a butterfly kiss on Cindy's forehead, cradling her in his arms.

"I'm being accused of murder in the first-degree, and I've requested you as the prosecutor because you know as well as I that I couldn't have done it. I didn't even know there _had _been a murder committed, since my Theoretical Metaphysics final exam was completed before the murder took place, and that's the only class I had with her."

Cindy clenched his shirt. "Jimmy, I believe you, but how will the rest of the world?"

He held her gently, sighed slowly, and imbued confidence into his voice as he whispered to her.

"Everything will be alright."

* * *

**_A/N: It's not like me to write after a chapter, but hey, I figured I needed to say something. What did you think? Complex now? Wait until we get to the trial. If questions are asked about it, I MIGHT just answer them. _**

**_Celeste Benson is my own character. Her name is a bit of a play-on words; Celeste refers to Celestial, meaning heavenly bodies, a.k.a. stars. Benson is a play on bunsen, a type of steel burner that can be used to boil chemicals within a glass beaker. She is not the only character I will be introducing, nor the only play-on words. _**

**_To those who care to read these, you'll be rather amused to learn that I am currently in the midst of playing Capcom's Ace Attorney: Justice for All game with a NDS emulator on my laptop. I enjoy the PW: Ace Attorney series and will have played all three of the games by the time I begin writing the trial. I might even post a "sub-chapter" with the court record during the actual trial. This trial I am writing is based loosely on the Ace Attorney game series, as I have concocted four weird twists that not even Mia Fey could have figured out. XD_**

**_Beat me, hate me, you can never break me; Will me, thrill me, you can never kill me; Jew me, sue me, everybody do me; Kick me, kike me, don't you black-or-white me. Ladies and gentlemen, hate all you'd like, but this is the way this story must go. I guarantee to my readers that THIS TRIAL WILL TIE DIRECTLY INTO THE STORY'S SUMMARY. As Phoenix Wright is always saying, "IT HAS EVERYTHING TO DO WITH THIS CASE!"_**


	5. Alibis and Allegations

_**A/N: I have received quite a few reviews in the past couple of days, and I'm sorry I didn't manage to respond to them all. I have been writing out the entire extent of this trial in shorthand, and as a result, I've not really had an opportunity to truly sit down and write. This chapter was pretty much generated as a filler chapter, and the next one will also be partially for filler content. However, it is necessary, as I need to progress the story to the investigation held by the prosecutor Cindy Vortex and the defense attorney Priscilla Flatfoot (who will be changing her last name by the time the characters meet her, as a side note). I'm sorry to have caused you to wait, but if you wish, skip down past the line break to read.**_

_**Some shoutouts are in order, I think...**_

_**cheernerd7: I'm glad you like it. Hopefully I can keep you entertained for the duration of the action. :)**_

_**Yaya: Sis, you don't need to ask me questions here...but I suppose I can answer them nonetheless. No, you cannot be in the story; things never work out when I try and include friends and family into my works. Mia Fey is a character in the Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney videogame series for Nintendo DS. My summary...I need to edit it a tiny bit once again, but it's almost exactly what I want it to say. As for mom kicking you off my computer...you shouldn't be on it without permission anyways. XD**_

_**Sunshine-Midnight123: Thank you so much! I was given the choice between an artistic career and a logical career for Cindy, so I chose logic to give the story an amazing twist and plotline. As for his conviction...technically, he won't be held in detention until he arrives in New York City next chapter. ;)**_

_**DiceRox09: Hehehe, glad to see you liked the twist in plotline. Unfortunately, the prosecuting attorney is the one putting people in jail and accusing them of guilt, not the defense attorney trying to keep them out of jail and innocent. As far as Jimmy's "niceness"...if you can believe it, that was actually a message to the general public. Glad to see you caught it. Especially considering I am a boy at 17 years old and I would have reacted the same way. ;)**_

_**Alright, shoutouts are done. Now, get to the reading!**_

* * *

"Everything will be alright," he repeated, stroking her hair.

"How? You're accused of murder, Jimmy! What's more, _I'm the one putting you in prison!_" she snapped, sniffing loudly.

"But you and I both know I'm innocent, right?"

"R-right..."

"Well, then all you need to do is to present a case that skews the accusations from me to another person. The defense attorney will be fairly surprised, but I imagine he may thank you for your help."

"W-well...then I need an alibi for you! An honest and truthful alibi of all that you know!"

"Alright...When do I start?"

"Whenever the incident began," she replied, moving to the couch. Jimmy handed her a paper-thin LED touch-screen tablet computer with a full-sized keyboard on the screen specifically sized for human hands. She gazed at it at a loss for words; it weighed next-to-nothing and yet glowed brilliantly, the half-inch glass edging allowing sight of objects below.

"Hmm...that would have to be earlier that day, then. About...eleven o'clock in the morning, by American time. That would be when Professor Shurryou Kaishi started our final exam period. That would also be the only class I shared with Celeste Benson. She and I were very good friends while I was there, and we'd often spend hours discussing theoretical metaphysics."

Cindy tapped on the screen, the gentle sound of chiming glass echoing from the speakers hidden within the device's screen. It sounded as though she were tapping on liquid glass that was dripping and chiming at the same time, light _pings _of sound.

"Alright, so you took the test. Then what?"

"The class ended at twelve-forty-five in the afternoon. We left the class together, discussing the test. She was the only other freshman at Oxford taking that particular class, and the only one who had a grade that could match mine. She's already patented three inventions and was working on her fourth before she was murdered.

"We talked about the test as we headed back to our dorms. The girls have their own set of dorm rooms, but the buildings are right beside each other, even if they are inaccessible to unauthorized personnel. Boys can't go to the girl's side, and girls can't come to the boy's side."

"Makes sense..." the blonde mused, still typing away.

"During our conversation, and right as we got to the dorm buildings, she and I discussed having dinner together and taking a walk along the cliffs as a memento of our class together. She and I were rivals in class, I guess, but nothing serious ever ensued. However, we both agreed to the plan, and headed to the park nearby. It's about fifteen minutes walking time from the campus, but we were on our lunch break, and I had my food in my hypercube.

"We got to the park a little past one o'clock in the afternoon, thirteen-hundred hours over there." He paused. "Should I just state the time in twelve-hour cycle, or twenty-four-hour cycle?"

"Twelve. It's the only time schedule I've ever had to deal with and will be easiest for the courts," she replied quickly, typing even faster.

"Alright, so, a little past one o'clock."

"How much past?"

"Couldn't say. My watch emits a small, vibrating pulse every hour on the hour, and I felt it pump against my wrist when we were a couple blocks away, so if I had to guess I would say we arrived at about one-o-five. Whenever it was, I'd already eaten on the way and shared food with Celeste. A sandwich apiece was enough, since I wasn't very hungry and I knew she had food in her own dorm should she want more. Along with the food, I'd brought my camera."

"May I see it?"

Jimmy reached behind where he leaned against the counter in front of the hundreds of cubbyholes in the walls and withdrew a glowing blue octagonal prism-shaped figure. From within the top panel, he produced a very large and expensive-looking digital camera, complete with a safari lens and a large viewing window on the backside.

"How could you afford this," Cindy gaped. Jimmy shrugged.

"I never said that the irreplaceable lightbulb was the only thing I patented and sold."

She nodded, transferring the barcode number and camera model into the device through a nearly-invisible camera located just above the topmost edge of the screen. The characters immediately transferred into the document, minus the actual barcode itself. Cindy raised her eyebrows.

"Smart camera."

"You're also holding a piece of hardware that I plan on mass-producing shortly, and the only one of its kind, as it turns out. It's shock-proof, water-proof, fire-proof, scratch-proof, and just about any other kind of hazard-resistant you can think of, not to mention that it has the most sophisticated coding and components contained within a single sheet of sixteenth-inch glass."

"I'd ask, but you'd confuse me, and that's not why I'm here. Continue."

"Where was I...? Oh yes, I'd brought my camera with me just because I had my hypercube with me at the same time. Everything's in the hypercube. But, cube aside, I pulled out the camera and decided I wanted to get some photos, even though there wasn't much to capture. We trekked to my favorite secluded thicket of trees and I snapped a picture of the park as it appeared on an average day. It looked absolutely stunning with the dark green grass and tall, leafy trees...did I mention it's a sort of park within a forest?"

"No, you did not. What's the name?"

"They call it the Winter Wonderland park, which is understandable: during the winter, the snow falls just perfectly on this large space of land and makes for awesome grounds to build a snowman or have a snowball fight."

"I see. Continue."

"Anyways, on that Thursday, I had said something that Celeste found to be humorous, even though I really didn't see the humor. So, to pay her back, I snapped a picture of her laughing. I then called her cute to tease her, which resulted in a scuffle that she lost."

"How many of these little scuffles have you had?"

"That would be the first," Jimmy said calmly. He could tell Cindy was jealous.

"Continue," she commanded.

"After the scuffle, we made our way back to the main area of the park. It was probably about one-thirty by then, since it's a bit of a ways to get to my favorite spot. As we were standing in the middle of the grass talking, I caught sight of the sun over the trees on the horizon, and I snapped that as my third picture of the day. It looked amazing, the way the bright sun cast shadow over everything below it.

"Following that, we walked back to the campus. I had another class to get to at two, and Celeste wanted to sleep. We made plans on the way back to meet up at five for dinner, to celebrate our year as rivals, colleagues, and friends."

"Rivals?"

"Like I said, she was the only student in that class able to match me. She claimed that she wanted to be an astrophysicist. Space-time was her favorite portion of class discussion, and she was engrossed in anything relating to the collision of past, present, and future."

"Go on," she coaxed, fingers poised.

"Well, anyways, I went to my next class, Comprehensive Evolution and Development, which is basically biology times twelve. I had to write a report about the String Theory and its relation to Quantum Mechanics, and how that in turn translates to how our bodies react and develop to result in no human beings that are exactly alike."

"Odd," she blurted.

"What is?"

"You had to write a report about Quantum Mechanics in _biology _class."

"Same teacher as the Metaphysics class," he stated simply. Cindy raised an eyebrow.

"You _do_ realize that this is your life on the line, right?"

"Yes."

"And that _I _have to put _you _in jail?"

"I don't like it, but yes."

She sighed. "Jimmy, I like it even less, but you requested me, and I...I _need _to help you."

"Or just get me a guilty verdict."

"Is that what you want?"

"Not particularly, but if it's what must happen-"

She threw the tablet at him, which caught him in the jaw and shut him up. He caught the sheet easily before it struck the ground.

"One of its kind," he reminded her, massaging his jaw. She growled at him.

"You will NOT go to jail as long as I'm the one prosecuting you! You did NOT commit this crime and I REFUSE to put you in jail for something you didn't do!"

"Okay, okay," he grinned sheepishly. "I just want to make your job as easy as possible. You've gotta put _some_one in jail, right?"

"Yeah, but it isn't going to be you."

"Alright...if you insist," he said resignedly, handing the tablet back.

"Anyways...I took the test and the class let out at about three-forty-five. I went back to my room to relax and freshen up for the dinner. We met in the parking lot at about five o'clock and immediately headed to the restaurant."

"What was the name of it?"

"Funny enough, it didn't have one."

Cindy raised an eyebrow. Jimmy laughed.

"You think I'm joking, I see."

"Continue," she stated bluntly.

"We got to the restaurant at about five-twenty and ate dinner. We talked and laughed and drank a little champagne, just laughing at all the memories. Finally, the waiter brought the bill, and I paid for it."

"How much?"

"About a hundred Euros, I think...Here, this is the receipt."

He handed her a small piece of paper that had indeed come from a restaurant, and had exactly one-hundred Euros marked at the bottom. It appeared that Jimmy had used his credit card to make the transaction."

"Keep going," she coaxed, scanning the receipt into the tablet.

"If I'm not mistaken, the time on the receipt says something like eighteen-forty, right?"

"Yeah. So, six-forty in the evening."

"Sounds about right...We got into the car and drove to the cliffs. My watch pulsed again, seven o'clock, but we got there a bit later than that...maybe seven-ten, if I had to guess. We walked along the edge and talked more about the past and the future. We even decided to stay in touch after the year was over, maybe collaborate a bit and invent together or something."

Jimmy knew he was on shaky ground by discussing another girl with Cindy, whom he could reasonably guess still had interest in him. However, he'd never had any intention to migrate his friendship with Celeste any further than a friendship. She was a little bit too much for him at times, and she had a dark secret that she had only ever shared with one person, and that person happened to be him. His mind had a small war with itself, and reasoned that chances were high that it would surface during the trial.

"Anyways...it was about eight-twenty or so when we got a little tired of walking and a little chilled from the sea breeze. We returned to the car and I took us both back to the campus. We hugged and said our good-byes for the night. I personally do not know what became of her that night, as I had to return to my room to finish writing a report for my Advanced Physical Manifestations class. She's the only teacher I had that gave us a double-assignment, one that we were to write and hand in on the day of the final, the other to be written and turned in during class. I didn't see the point in it, but I guarantee I wrote the longest papers."

"What does all this have to do with the murder?"

"Oh. Right. Sorry. The paper took up my time that evening. As I said before, I personally do not know what happened. I didn't even know there had been a murder that night, as there wasn't any talk of it at Oxford. Then again, we weren't allowed to do much talking during the tests anyways, and I left immediately after my final class ended to head for the airport and meet up with Libby. I feel stupid for not having known, but...I suppose that just because I'm a genius doesn't mean I have to know everything."

Cindy rolled her eyes. "As if we haven't all heard that line before..."

He sighed. "I'm sorry I can't be of more help."

"Actually, you can. Describe for me Celeste, and then perhaps you can answer any questions I have."

"Describe Celeste? Hmm...

"She was a very nice girl. Difficult to anger. Difficult to bring to tears, too. She was almost always smiling. Whenever she wasn't smiling, I knew something was up. Intelligent, quick-witted, always on her best behavior. She tried to avoid any kind of drama, truth or lies, no matter who it concerned, and was often stomping out gossip and rumors. An all-around good girl."

"Anything particularly definitive about her, besides her positives?"

"Ah...I thought it would come to this..."

"Come to what?"

"Her dark secret. She confided in me a couple months ago while we lounged in the park. She and I didn't have many friends, but we could pretty much trust each other with anything."

"What's her secret, Neutron?"

"Easy, easy, Cindy. Don't be so harsh."

"I need to know," she stated sternly. He sighed.

"I wish there was another way to go about this trial...but I guess I have to bring the dirt to the table." He sighed heavily, shoulders shaking. "Celeste...I'm sorry.

"When she was eight years old, her step-brother molested her. Called her foul names. Told her bad things. She hated him. As a result, she made up any excuse she could to stay away from him and her step-mother, since she has primary custody over him.

"At age eleven, the step-brother was fourteen or fifteen...I think he was four years older, but I can't say for certain. Age aside, he decided that she was too pure and...he raped her. He told her that if she said anything about it, he'd murder her. And every third weekend of every month, he was with his father, and she got a break. But...she pretty much became his prisoner. Once he turned eighteen, she pressed charges against him, even recorded a video of his domination over her for proof. He was convicted for three years, and she confided in me because she feared he would be back to kill her."

"Do you think he did it?"

"I never met the man, so I can't say."

Jimmy looked very unsure of himself, something much unlike him. Cindy softened.

"If he did, it means you're off the hook."

"But somehow, I feel within me that it's not him."

"You _feel_? Jimmy, you're a _scientist! _You need to _know_ this, not _feel _it!"

He sighed. "There have been only select few times I've relied on my gut instinct about things. This would be one of those few times."

Cindy hardened once again.

"We need _evidence, _Neutron! I may be the prosecuting attorney, but damn it, I'm not letting you go to jail for something you didn't do!"

"Relax, Cindy, relax. Like I said, I never met the guy, so I don't know."

"I need to meet him. You and I are going to be in New York City by tonight."

"Everything happened in England, though..." Jimmy mused. "I suppose the only reason they're deferring it to our legal system is because she and I are from America. It is entirely possible that the witnesses are British, but...I imagine they would have few complaints about testifying."

"Well, I don't know about you, but I haven't had time to unpack, and most of my clothes are clean, so I'm just going to grab my suitcase and go."

"That makes two of us. After I explain to my parents, that is."

It was roughly thirty minutes later that Jimmy's figure stepped into Cindy's passenger seat. She scowled.

"What took so long?"

"Mom. She couldn't understand why I was being called to New York so suddenly on a Saturday morning. I told her that there was a press conference that would be taking place next Monday, and that I needed to be there for legal issues and release papers. Which isn't entirely a lie...it just isn't exactly why I'm going."

He grinned sheepishly as Cindy backed out of the driveway and stepped into the accelerator pedal. She rolled her eyes.

"Sometimes I wonder, Neutron...sometimes I wonder."

The bracelets on her left arm glinted brightly in the morning sunshine as Cindy drove the car down the highway, which was considerably less deserted than it had been the night before. The frilly sleeves on her black-and-purple zebra-striped blouse rippled as the wind swirled around them, her knee-length black shorts clinging fairly tightly to her body. Jimmy suspected that she really meant business, and she could easily play the part.

After a short twenty minutes, they pulled into the valet parking for the airport. "One scratch and you'll be held in lawsuit," she warned the driver. A flash of mortified despair struck his face, leaving just as quickly as he stepped into the car and carefully pulled it away. Without further hesitation, Jimmy and Cindy marched into the front doors of the airport, striding straight toward the ticket counter. Cindy reached it first and startled the receptionist with the _thud_ of her fist on the counter.

"May I help you?" she tittered. Cindy's whole demeanor changed.

"I need two tickets to the Big Apple. My boyfriend and I are having an engagement party and we decided to go see the lights on spur of the moment," she gushed, laying the icing thickly on the cake. Jimmy reflexively took her hand, gazing at her distantly, as though he really was her lover. Cindy did not pull away, but she wasn't about to show Jimmy that she felt a spark deep within her aching heart.

"The next flight out of here is at noon, sharp."

"Perfect! We'll take two tickets, then."

"Will that be all?"

"Well, we aren't in a love-triangle, so I guess that's it."

Cindy was really playing the part of a bubbly young bride-to-be. Jimmy was at a loss for words, but thankfully he managed to aid in fooling the receptionist by gazing dreamily at Cindy as she slipped the tickets into her front pocket.

"Thank you soooo much!"

"Not at all! Have a nice flight, you two."

"We will," Cindy called, skipping alongside Jimmy, still playing the part. He didn't realize that she'd dropped the act as soon as they'd left the counter and believed she was only pretending to be happy and giggly. They got to the security gate and she finally released his hand, trying hard not to blush.

"So, now we're in."

"Nice acting, by the way. I always thought you could be on Broadway or something."

Cindy blinked and glanced at Jimmy. "I'm not sure if that's a compliment or an insult."

He shrugged, a sly smile on his face. "That's for you to decide, Ms. Vortex."

She rolled her eyes. "Easy there, Mr. Neutron. You're far from out of this yet."

"Hey!" a gravelly voice called. Both parties turned toward the voice to see a large man striding through the crowd, directly toward them both. They glanced at each other simultaneously, worry in their eyes.

"Is he talking to us?"

"Hey, you! Blue jacket! Purple blouse!"

Jimmy blinked twice. "Apparently so."

The man stood before them, hair shorn haphazardly, large brown eyes suspicious, ruddy complexion in contrast to his green business tie hanging over his blue-collared long-sleeved shirt. His khaki slacks were slightly baggy, and seemed to drape a bit haphazardly over his loafers. He looked between the two of them.

"Are you by chance Prosecutor Vortex?"

"That would be me," Cindy returned hesitantly.

"And are you Suspect Neutron?"

"That is I," he replied calmly, much to Cindy's irritation.

"My name is Detective P. I. Flatfoot. I'm here on behalf of the New York City District Attorney Court. They sent me here when District Attorney Verity Stigma talked last with Mr. Neutron yesterday evening. I arrived at about four o'clock this morning and I've been awake and waiting for you two to appear since then."

He attempted a smile, but it appeared more like a grimace. Jimmy sighed.

"Detective Flatfoot. Will you be aiding the prosecution or the defense?"

"Well...technically, there is no real definitive 'side' that I represent...my duty as a detective is to try and uncover whatever evidence I can, so that the truth may become clear."

"Flatfoot...where have I heard that name before...?" Cindy muttered, thinking deeply while she chewed her lip.

"Well, since we're kinda holding up the line, I'll be more than willing to escort you both to a private one-way direct flight to New York City. We have a trial to get to, after all."

"Ah! Detective!"

"Yes?"

"You wouldn't happen to have anyone by the name of Priscilla in your family, would you?"

"She's my younger sister. How do you know her, and why do you ask?"

Cindy blinked. "She and I attended Harvard together. I think she wishes to become a defense attorney, does she not?"

"She does...which leads me to a rather uncomfortable piece of news."

"Oh, shit..." Cindy balked. She immediately began shoving both men through the customs security gates.

"Get us onto that plane, Detective. We need to leave NOW. Nothing further can be discussed here in the open."

"Alright, alright, easy. Calm down. I'm sure you both figured it out by now."

"Well, if I got it that fast, surely the genius did too."

"All I can do is guess. I won't know for certain until he discloses the information on the flight. A theory is only based on facts, after all."

The detective laughed, now lagging behind a very pushy Cindy. She was practically using her shoulder to drive Jimmy forward toward the private loading gate.

"Let's get on this flight and off the ground already!" she cried. They hustled into the plane amid a plethora of stares and confused expressions. The plane taxied and took off within a matter of moments. Finally, after a gradual ascent, the seatbelt light darkened, and Cindy blew her top.

"I have to prosecute against your _sister?_"

"Yeah, it seems that way," Flatfoot sighed, scratching the back of his head.

"Goddamnit," she shouted suddenly, pounding her fist into the armrest of the swivel chair.

"Is it really that bad?" Jimmy asked thoughtfully, his head resting gently on his closed fist.

"Yes, it really _is _that bad. We had to do several mock-up trials in school, and she and I had a fifty-fifty win-lose rate. I was always the prosecutor, and she was always the defense, and every other trial was a loss on my part. I didn't even know she was able to be a defense attorney for a murder trial."

"She's incredibly talented," Flatfoot interjected. "I don't see what's so bad about it."

"Detective, please do me a favor. Look at your sister's client. Does he look guilty?"

"Well...to be honest, even though the evidence seems to point toward him, he really doesn't fit the picture of a killer."

"That's because there is no way he could have done it. But, now, knowing that, think about your sister. She has to defend an innocent client. Against _me!_ There is just as much opportunity for her to win as there is for me! Which basically means," she summarized, looking straight into Jimmy's eyes, "that if she can't find any evidence to use against the _real _killer, _you will be found guilty by my hand and will be sentenced to life without parole!_"

"Tell me, Cindy. How likely is it that prosecution and defense team up?" Jimmy suggested. She could almost see the gears turning inside his eyes.

"In most aspects and circumstances...there is no such thing as likelihood. However...she and I were friends at Harvard, and spent almost every second of every day together. Even though we went to school together and fought each other in classroom court, holding our classmates on trials that the professor concocted, using tiny, insignificant scraps of evidence to convict or release the client, we were like sisters. She filled Libby's role while we were apart...and now, she's your defense attorney."

"Is she good?"

"Jimmy. I'll give you credit for being a genius. But this girl...if you were a defense attorney yourself, you wouldn't be able to pull off half of the recoveries and turnabouts this girl has. She can create and defend the wildest, but most truthful stories about her clients based on the smallest, most insignificant crumb of investigative evidence. There was nothing that she ever overlooked, and nothing that the professor could ever throw at her that would surprise her. She's not just good, Jimmy...she's _fucking _good."

"It's a good thing that she's my defense attorney, then."

"The only problem was that she wasn't very good at finding the actual evidence. She was very tactful and imaginative in court, but when it came to field work, and actually locating the evidence that the professor laid out on the campus...I usually ended up finding more than two-thirds of the court record."

"Which means one thing, then, Cindy," Flatfoot interjected again. She raised an eyebrow.

"It means..." he continued, trailing off.

"...that you will have to set your pride aside for the time being and work together with the defense attorney in order to come to the truth. You will have to present to her everything you know, and everything you suspect, including witnesses and possible testimonies, which I'm sure you're capable of," Jimmy completed. Flatfoot nodded slowly in agreement. Cindy sighed, shoulders quaking violently.

"Jimmy."

"Yes?"

"I guarantee nothing about this trial. I believe you when you say everything will be alright. But...I cannot guarantee that you will be found innocent. If that is the case, are you prepared to accept the consequences, whether or not they are of your own doing?"

He steepled his fingers and rested his chin on them, gazing delicately at the overhead fluorescent lights. He was deathly silent, not even making the slightest whisper of a sound in breathing. He closed his eyes after a time, and appeared to be calculating something. Finally, he smiled, separated his hands, and reopened his eyes. His gaze fell directly toward Cindy, eyes supercharged with an energy akin to that of a bomb.

"Cindy, I trust you with my life. You know that, right?"

She gulped and blinked before nodding slowly and carefully, never breaking eye contact. The detective looked on in earnest interest.

"No matter what happens, Cindy. No matter what. Do not blame yourself, good or bad. No matter what happens, I can accept the responsibility and consequences, even if an innocent man should be pronounced guilty."

"Are you absolutely sure of that?" she whispered, her throat tight. She practically choked on her words.

"I would bet my life on it, Cindy. For you."

He then rotated his chair back to face out the window, the gray backside of the plush red cloth swivel chair pointed directly at Cindy's line of sight. The detective tapped his temple when Cindy glanced at him, and she nodded; he was thinking deeply and wished to remain undisturbed.

"Sir, I think we could do with some sleep. Something tells me we have quite the fight and fury on our hands from here until the end of the trial in two weeks. You've been up since earlier than four o'clock this morning, and I've been worried into insanity since the phonecall I received this morning that woke me from my light hangover. I need to contemplate things just as much as you do, and I think it would be agreeable to us both if we were to put our minds together with some rest to rejuvenate them. I fear it will be a long, sleepless week for all of us."

"I could not agree more, Ms. Vortex."

"Please, that's too formal for here. I'm casual right now, sir. Just call me Cindy until you see me in court, alright?"

"Fair enough, Cindy. I bid you a comforting rest. I think I'll have the pilot slow the plane so that we can relax for a bit longer before landing."

"I can do as asked," the pilot called back quietly. "I should be able to give you at least a couple of hours of flight time."

"Thank you very much, Captain," Cindy replied, slowly turning her chair. Now she faced out the opposite window from Jimmy, and as she gazed at the fluffy white clouds passing beneath them, the sun warming the side of her face, she drifted into a lull that would eventually caress her down deeper and deeper into a refreshing, alleviating sleep.

* * *

**_I had to break the chapter here. It may only be about 10:30 here, but I have to get up at 6:30 tomorrow morning. High school takes away so much time I could be utilizing, but hey, life is life, and I can't try and avoid it. I will attempt to post my next chapter either tomorrow evening or Tuesday evening, as I should have plenty of time to write on those days. :)_**

**_Just so everyone knows, I try not to write and invent contradictions in the story, but if I have anything that is out of alignment with what is truth or what I've previously stated, don't be afraid to say so. I realize everyone may appreciate what I have to write, but even professionals make mistakes, and I'm nowhere near their caliber. So please, feel free to say what you wish, and don't be afraid to criticize me._**

**_Also...I should let you know that I don't spell-check or grammar-check...and I post my stories immediately after I finish writing them. There's no point in making you guys wait around all day for another chapter when it's clearly finished and ready to go, right? But also with the errors, please let me know if I make any. :)_**


	6. Defensive Musings

_**A/N: I wanted to update quickly, and I guess that 4.6k words in one chapter for an hour and a half's work is enough, right? My goal was to update Monday, Wednesday, Friday, and Sunday of every week, which is a pretty tall order. This is "Monday's" update, and yesterday was "Sunday's". **_

_**Shoutout to DiceRox09: He only seems to be calm. In all perfect honesty, he's kinda freaking out inside. He's got so many things that could possibly go wrong, and only one possible outcome that could make everything alright. Just wait; you think he's holding it together? It's about to get a helluva lot more ugly. Detective Flatfoot is a good guy and means no harm; hell, the defense attorney is his younger sister. She's probably going to be my favorite character in this story, if you ask me now. As for Jimmy being in the uncomfortable situation, yes, I would have reacted the same way. That little blurb about him being with Cindy was a message to society. As you and the song "Guys Like You Make Us Look Bad" by blessthefall have so avidly stated, there aren't very many decent guys out there nowadays. I can definitely trust everyone as far as I can throw them, though; I'm a scrawny little wimp who can't throw anyone for anything. XD**_

_**Anyways, to my fabulous readers, enjoy and review as your heart desires.**_

* * *

Jimmy woke up when the plane hit a minute bump in its flight, something certainly not enough to disturb the average sleeper. He gazed around blearily; he hadn't been able to get any decent sleep. Being called a murderer was very hard on his nerves and his patience, and his body didn't seem to be able to stay immobile for any period of time.

He gazed out the window into the clear blue sky, the throngs of farmland and small town outcroppings drifting by lazily. He looked to the pilot.

"How much longer," he whispered hoarsely.

"Maybe...thirty minutes, tops."

Jimmy sighed, leaning back in his chair. He reached his left hand out and a cold glass of iced tea struck him in the palm as it slid out of the armrest. He glanced at it before lifting it to his lips and taking a long draught. The chill woke him and refreshed him in one swift motion, and he gazed out the window now with a spark of life in his eyes. Yes, this was going to be very interesting for him indeed.

"Mr. Neutron, I am beginning my descent. We've come up to the city closer than I imagined we would. We'll be landing in about five minutes; I'm going to up the throttle a bit so we arrive sooner. I don't know about you, but I tire a bit of flying."

"Believe me, you aren't the only one," he replied. The plane very gently began to descend, dropping only a couple feet per second. Nonetheless, the feeling of freefall motion struck both of the other passengers' stomachs and they awoke with a start. The seatbelt light lit up.

"Sorry to wake everyone, but we've arrived just a tad sooner than expected. We'll be landing in a few moments, so hang tight."

The plane began to descend much faster than it had. According to the satellite GPS on Jimmy's watch, he was traveling at close to seven hundred miles per hour, and his speed was rising steadily. Outside the window, the buildings began to grow increasingly more dense. After a mere thirty seconds, the mass of black and silver structures was staggering in appearance, and growing closer as the plane dropped and dropped.

"Are you sure we're safe?"

"Everything is under control," the pilot reassured him as the plane jolted from some turbulence. "I can land this plane no problem, even with turbulence and bad vision."

He diverted his attention back to the air traffic control tower. Jimmy could only sit and stare out the window as he fell out of the air like a skydiver. He gripped the armrests more tightly than necessary. _I've already done something like this before once in the past twenty-four hours..._

"Alright, we're approaching the landing strip. Hang in there, guys. Two minutes to landing."

A cloud passed and the runway appeared suddenly out the windshield of the plane. The pilot extended the landing gear and the plane touched down smoothly, the engines reversing direction and slowing the plane to a taxiable crawl. They docked and exited into the main terminal.

"I'm with the police, I'm with the police," he grunted, flashing his badge at a flabbergasted security guard. He ushered Cindy and Jimmy through the gates without bothering to stop and wait for them to be scanned or checked.

"What about my luggage?" Cindy exclaimed as they headed out the front doors.

"During the half-hour I was at my house, I contacted the D.A.C. and they told me that they'd already sent a detective to meet us and that we'd be ushered through security with no questions asked. I placed your luggage into my hypercube before we left so we wouldn't have to wait."

"Why is it you never tell me these things before they happen," she sighed exasperatedly as they entered a pre-chartered shuttlebus. As soon as the door closed, the van sped off into the approaching evening, heading straight for the New York City Prosecution Office.

"Jimmy, is there anything you've not told me that I need to know? About anything, anything at all?"

He looked at her, sitting uptight and nervous, perched on the edge of the couch-like seat. The detective had elected to sit in the front passenger seat, leaving only them two in the back, alone. And Jimmy truly felt alone, even with Cindy as the prosecuting attorney and Priscilla as his defense attorney. He sighed and hung his head, his had-been well-groomed hair hanging over his face.

"I...some of the stuff is irrelevant to the case..."

"I need to _know_, Jimmy. I need to know _everything_. She'll nail me to the cross with one simple mistake just because you couldn't tell me so I could be prepared."

"Is she really so heartless?"

"Well...I don't believe she is...but...I can't say for certain."

He sighed again, still hanging his head, unable to face her for fear of breaking down entirely. "What...what exactly do you need to know?"

"Everything and anything."

"I have proof from Goddard that I was in my room that night as I said. The dinner receipt shows I was there. I also have proof from him that I was in my room relaxing when I said, and both of my teachers can claim that I was there in class when I said I was. I have no proof that I was in fact in the park or on the cliffs other than my word. Nobody saw us on the cliffs, for certain, even if there is other testimony to claim I was in the park. I swear to you on my life that I was not there that night."

"Anything more, Jimmy?"

He paused for a moment, tapping the toes of his shoes together. "Well...there's my chip...and the mind-swipe...and her."

"Her?"

"In order, in order," he shushed, waving his hand as he collected his thoughts. He continued to stare at his shoes, hair hanging over his face. "The chip. I had Goddard do a surgery on me in which he implanted a neuro-board on the top of the inside of my skull. The board communicates with my brain and constantly transmits information to Goddard about my overall health, as well as my GPS location. With the neuro-board, I can teleport and create EMP blasts that will disrupt electrical signals anywhere within a fifty-foot radius of me. I can also discharge electricity through my hair and rearrange my body's molecules to pass through objects, undetected and invisible to all objects, living or mechanical.

"The mind-swipe. I created a small box that refracted a highly-concentrated laserbeam until it grew in intensity to the point of having the ability to selectively erase memories. Each retina, each cornea, each little fiber within the iris of the eyeball holds tiny grooves about past experiences, things which people have seen. I can selectively wipe these little grooves away from existence should I so choose, and it is entirely possible this will be used against me in the trial, under the pretense of not wanting witnesses.

"As for her...you're going to hate this most of all, as if the rest wasn't enough."

"Who is she? It's not Celeste, is it?"

"No, I've told you all I can about her. You're only missing her physical appearance, but I'm sure the Office will have a photo and autopsy report for you to refer to. No, this 'her'...is Betty Quinlan."

Cindy's stomach dropped into freefall as her heart skipped several beats. She struggled to breathe. "How...how does Betty Braindead play into this?"

"She's a model now, and she was in England at the time of the murder. From what I've asked Goddard to check for me, he claims that she was, in fact, a witness to the crime. I don't know how decisive or inconclusive that may be, as that is for you and Ms. Flatfoot to decide. However, be careful with her; she's not the same as in grade school. I talked to her just two weeks before this all happened, and she's a totally different character from the Braindead she used to be."

"How different are we talking?" Cindy challenged skeptically.

"She's very intelligent, very cunning, very sly and deceitful. She also has malicious feelings and intentions toward me, so I am a prime target for her. She hasn't exactly struck at me yet, and I don't see her being capable of murder, but even I have been mistaken prior to today."

Cindy groaned. "So the bimbo grew some brains in the past three years. Lovely. The fact that she's a model makes things all-the-more complicated."

"You can handle it. I just don't know if I can. She's had her way with me more than once, and I still feel the pain she caused," he moped. Cindy didn't know which she wanted to do, comfort him, or laugh at him.

"There is the fourth thing...but that's so far removed from this that it's not something I feel is necessary."

"Unnecessary? Jimmy, didn't you hear me? She will make any and every attempt to _nail_ me to the cross, even if we're both trying to get you acquitted. How can something _not _be irrelevant?"

"It goes back to three years ago..." he muttered quietly. She paused.

"What do you mean?"

"Cindy, just let it go. I don't want to put any added pressure on you," he replied with an air of finality. She directed her eyes to the left of his head and began thinking.

_Added pressure? Three years ago? How does all of this add up? And why is he so reluctant to tell me anything? I need to get to the bottom of-_

The van lurched to a halt and the door slid open. A riot cop with a shield and a baton at the ready reached into the vehicle and yanked Jimmy out by the wrist, pinning him harshly against the sliding door.

"James Neutron, you are hereby incarcerated for the murder of Celeste Benson. You have the right to remain silent," he continued, clicking the handcuffs quickly onto his already-aligned wrists. Jimmy sighed and listened rather grudgingly as Cindy stepped from the vehicle.

"...anything you say and do can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one-"

"...one will most certainly be provided for you," a smug voice rang out. The officer looked behind him and saluted; Jimmy was still pinned by one arm against the door and did nothing to fight it.

"Ma'am, we've incarcerated the perp-"

"I can see that very plainly," she stated. Her voice sounded a little bit higher in pitch than Cindy's and had a bit more of a pronounced 'ahh' sound. She almost seemed to have a very slight British accent about her.

"Uncuff him, Officer Blark."

"Ma'am, he is accused of murder and claimed to be highly dangerous. As the head of this squadron, I feel that-"

"Un. Cuff. Him." she replied, a tone of deadly seriousness in her voice. Jimmy could almost hear the ring of officers surrounding them shuffling uncomfortably. Blark fumbled with the keys and couldn't get the cuffs off fast enough.

"As you wish, ma'am."

"Mr. Neutron. Turn around so I can get a good look at you."

He lifted himself easily from the surface of the door, noting that Cindy stood to his right, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe. He then turned gently and respectfully on his heel and finally cast his eyes upon the speaker.

She was shorter than Cindy, and held herself very proudly. She seemed very regal, and had a very powerful and commanding aura around her, much stronger than Cindy's. However, there was also a delicacy about her that seemed to lurk just under the surface, hidden only by this facade intended to command the officers.

"James Isaac Neutron. We meet at last." She extended her hand, and he shook it firmly. "I am your defense attorney."

"Priscilla Flatfoot. I should have suspected it was you," he returned, gently kissing her hand. She giggled mischievously.

"Please, James, call me Ms. Serafie. Priscilla Serafie."

"Odd last name, isn't it?"

"Hardly. I decided I needed a name to wear in court, one that would be a bit more..." she paused and glanced around her at nothing, "oh, what's the word...demonstrative?"

"Ah, I suppose that would fit."

She smiled thinly at him, but winked gently so the officers wouldn't see. He knew for certain that she was only playing an act with him.

"Well, well. Now THIS is indeed a shock to me." She stepped very loudly and very boldly in thigh-high custom-cut four-inch-heel leather boots over to stand before Cindy, who only gazed at her with half-raised eyebrows. The defense attorney smoothed her pleated black knee-length skirt and her white, frilled v-neck blouse in one quick, dexterous stroke. Right over the top of her breastbone sat a small diamond stud, surrounded by a spiraling collection of progressively smaller studs that linked into a golden chain, strung carefully around her neck. Her dark red hair was cut short, only hanging to her chin, and was brushed somewhat carelessly from her face, her bangs merely hanging lazily over her eyes.

"What a sight for sore eyes. Tell me, Vortex...how long has it been?"

"About two weeks, I think," she responded coolly, a cocky half-smile breaching her face. "You gotten any guilty verdicts against your perfect streak so far, Serafie?"

"Not so far, but then again I've made an honest attempt to select only innocent clients. I've had at least ten successful cases."

"But have any of them been murder trials?"

She faltered for a moment, but never once lost her relaxed but commanding presence. "Only three so far, my three most recent cases. Those have all somehow managed to take place within the past two weeks we've been away, one after the other, all in a row. All in New York City, as it turns out. Mostly just celebrities accused of murdering their lovers. Two of them were jealous ex-boyfriends. One of them was an ex-girlfriend who hired an assassin, and that was a difficult thing to prove."

Jimmy was mildly impressed. He was suddenly a bit glad that he had Ms. Serafie as his defense attorney.

"So, you got the real killer in the end?"

"We got the real perpetrator, yes. The assassin was left alone, since he is virtually untraceable. I couldn't even get any leads on him."

"Ah, so the killer still walks the streets."

"Not so fast. An assassin only kills at a price. This one seemed to have very high moral standards, and very high expectations and trust in his clients. Who knew she'd sell him out for something as trivial as an insignificant piece of evidence. But of course, it's the small things that make the biggest impressions, am I right?"

"You're still the same as you were in college," Cindy chided, striding up the stairs. Blark tapped the defense attorney on the shoulder.

"What would you like us to do now, ma'am? We were requested by the chief to incarcerate the perpetrator-"

"And as his defense attorney, I have elected to have him remain free for the duration of this trial. Personally, I am not convinced of his guilt. Just by looking at him, I can guess that he's not done anything intentionally wrong in his life."

Jimmy grinned. "She caught me! Guilty as charged," he laughed. The officer didn't quite appear to be as pleased.

"W-well, then-"

"Guard the doors. I want nobody who isn't involved in this case to enter here today, as this is a Saturday and the precinct is open should there be any questions. If there is an urgent matter, please notify me, but attempt to deflect all others away. Is that clear?"

"But, ma'am-"

"Is. That. Clear?"

"Y-yes, ma'am."

"Good. Oh, and Detective..."

He had finally poked his head out of the car. "I was going to head back to the precinct to check for leads or evidence for you, sis."

"Stole the words right out of my mouth. Thank you, Spero."

"Right away, sis!"

The van drove away rather hastily as the doors to the Office closed heavily behind the three bodies. Priscilla leaned against the doors and sighed, sliding down them to sit on the cold, marble floor.

"You have no idea how difficult it is to keep them in line all day...I've been having to play the bad guy while waiting for you to get here, and it's really quite tiring, I must say...They keep asking questions and making accusations, those nosey cops."

She stood back up slowly, dusting herself off. She sighed, planted her hands on her hips, and looked between the two of them. Suddenly, she smiled.

"So, Cindy, what have you been up to since I last saw you?"

"Not much, Prissy, not much. I showed up back in Retroville not long ago and I ended up meeting this kid and ended up having to leave town with him in less than twenty-four hours time," she summed up, gesturing appropriately at Jimmy, who had wedged his hands into his pants pockets and was gazing around the large entrance hall in wonder.

"So, this is the infamous James Neutron."

"Actually, most of my friends know me as Jimmy," he replied, finally settling his attention on her. "I don't know that I'd call myself infamous, per se, but I suppose it makes sense that the criminal would be famous for his crimes."

Priscilla reached out and grabbed his shoulder rather suddenly. He locked his sapphire-blue eyes with her hazelnut-brown ones, and she suddenly felt herself compelled to tell him everything she knew about everything she'd ever done, everything she'd ever seen, everyone she'd ever met. She was forced to break his gaze and then steel her resolve against him; she knew that she was a very compelling person and could weasel the truth from almost everyone, but she had to needle for it where he just seemed to let the truth be told as it would be told.

"Jimmy. Please. I've known Cindy long enough to know that you aren't guilty."

"How can you tell?"

"Our trials in the classroom. Whenever my client was guilty, she was viciously trying to get them sentenced, and most of the time, it worked. However, there is no hostility between you. Peace and comfort, yes. Some friction, of course. But no hostility, and no desire for justice that wrongs you."

"You're very kind and very intelligent, Ms. Serafie. My only caution about myself and others is that appearances can be deceiving."

She laughed, a true laugh, much unlike her strict and scorning laugh she'd used in front of the police officers. "Jimmy, I've already received your personal file. I've also started the investigation. All three of us will be flying to Evergarden airport tonight. We need to land there and get ourselves checked into a hotel. I've already tracked down witnesses and started to gather clues, and everything has been instructed to remain contactable and within my personal possession at the Prosecuting office overseas. However, it will all be traveling back with us for the trial next Monday. Are you ready for a long, tiring week?"

He sighed gratefully. "I'm flattered that you both are so willing to devote yourselves to what would be much easier to just sentence as guilty. But I told the police both here in New York and the police in England that I have no objections to being taken into custody."

"Objection!" Priscilla cried, standing back and folding her arms over her chest. "You may not have any objections, but Cindy will tell you that I'm made of them. My objection is that you have no reason to be held in detention for the duration of this case when we could utilize so much of your help as a scientist, as someone who deals in fact over fiction. My evidence is standing right there," she stated close-mindedly, gesturing at Cindy. She grinned.

"Same Priscilla, different trial."

"I'm accused of murder. Who's to say I won't try to do it again?"

"But you didn't do it," Priscilla countered fiercely.

"You don't know that."

She opened her mouth to speak, paused, and closed it again, tapping her fingers against her crossed arms. "I have enough confidence in my opponent and in my own judgment to believe you are not guilty. According to what I've heard rumor of, your alibi claims you were sleeping at the time of the murder."

"I was indeed."

"And you've easily admitted it for us, so why should we have any reason to doubt you."

"Jimmy, we all know you're innocent. Stop playing the 'what if' card and start helping us prove you innocent. I don't know about Prissy, but I'm going to try and help her prove you innocent no matter what it takes."

"Cindy speaks like a true prosecutor should. We are not here to prove you innocent or guilty, however. We are only here to discover the facts and the truth. We are only here to do justice to those around us who would do harm."

Jimmy chuckled, a wide, true smile breaking across his face. "I...I never realized you believed so fiercely in me."

"Would you rather we not?"

"Honestly, no..."

"Then stop fighting the fact that we want to help you and return the favor," Cindy called exasperatedly. "There's no reason to pretend like you're the criminal when you aren't, and since Prissy already negotiated to have you set free for the duration of the investigation, you can make yourself useful and do that science thing you always used to do when we were kids. If you can create a lightbulb that won't burn out for a hundred years, then damn it, you should be able to help us with finding clues."

He tapped his right index finger to his lips, thinking hard, head cocked slightly sideways. "I need...to see the evidence presented thusfar."

"Well, unfortunately, I don't have any records here. I was so anxious to get on the plane and catch you two before losing you that I had to leave everything in their office, not this one. I can't give you any further information until we get there and get to the office, but the investigation doesn't resume pace until tomorrow. Cindy and I will be teamed up and in cahoots with each other through the whole trial, even when we seem to be opponents in court. We already know whether you're innocent or guilty, now all we need to do is prove it."

"Alright, well, when do we get on the plane?"

"I need to get ahold of my brother. He's coming with us on this flight. I've already requested that the jet you came here in be refueled and prepped for another flight at eight o'clock this evening to Evergarden. Evergarden has given the all-clear, and the airstrip here has no complaints, so we're cleared for takeoff and landing." She flipped her short red hair over her shoulder and looked openly at Jimmy. "Well, Mr. Neutron? Are you up for another long flight yet this evening?"

"Well...Actually, I have another way of getting there..."

Cindy's eyes flashed. "Jimmy, that can only get you in trouble. We don't know what could happen!"

"I know exactly what the consequences are, and I do in fact have a destination point that won't interfere with surroundings. We can get there virtually undetected."

"Virtually?"

"The concussion force will create a loud, dull thump sound to anyone within the surrounding thirty feet, but it'll just sound like I dropped something really heavy. Not many people knew I was leaving the dorm to come home."

"Are you sure it works with others?"

"Only if they're willing to trust me."

"Hold it!" Priscilla cried. Her reddish-brown eyes locked with Jimmy's and held his gaze fiercely.

"What exactly are you two _talking _about?"

"Do you trust me?"

"Should I?"

"If you want an answer...then you may be left with no choice."

"Does Cindy trust you?"

Both parties looked to the blonde. She looked directly at Jimmy, gaze piercing and powerful. "I would trust him with my life."

Priscilla looked back at him and noted the sparkle in his eyes. Was it devious? Or was it cunning? Or maybe it was something else?

"Well, if she trusts you, that's good enough for me."

"Take my hand," he said quietly, extending his arms straight out from his sides. Cindy clasped his right hand tightly, even reaching partway up his forearm for better grip. Priscilla laughed loudly.

"What is this, some circus act?"

"Just grab his hand," Cindy commanded. Priscilla raised her hands in submission.

"Hey, relax. I'm just playing."

She grasped his hand gently and seemed to be overcome by a strange, incredulous expression, almost as though she were entranced. Jimmy glanced at Cindy, eyebrows raised in surprise.

"Alright. Just hang on tight."

He squeezed his eyes tightly shut and grunted. A deafening screech overtook their ears and their eyes closed automatically, hair swirling and tangling within itself. Their only instinct was to cling to Jimmy's arm for dear life.

And all at once, the noise died, and they felt their feet regain solid ground. They opened their eyes and found themselves in an unfamiliar room that lacked light. Jimmy lowered his freed arms and opened his eyes, working gently to uncross them. He flicked the switch and the overhead light clicked on.

"Where are we?" Priscilla asked shakily.

"Are we in your dorm?" Cindy asked with slightly more composure. Jimmy looked as though nothing had happened as he opened the door.

"Of course. I told you I had no interest in flying here."

"So...you teleported us?"

"Precisely."

Priscilla scoffed. "Alright, what kind of stunt are you both trying to pull here?"

They looked at her skeptically. "Stunt?" Jimmy stated, confusedly.

"Yeah. What kind of Houdini did you pull?"

"Ms. Serafie...this isn't a stunt or a trick. We're in England. I can teleport. I basically locked on to the GPS coordinates for my dorm room and passed us through a satellite triangulation beam."

"So...we went through space?"

"For a split second. But I transferred us here using satellite beams."

"Are you serious, or are you joking?"

"I'm dead serious," he replied, eyes hard. There was absolute sincerity in his eyes.

"Then...that means..."

"I can teleport to wherever I want at will. It's a difficult procedure and takes a lot of energy from both me and the satellites, but it's possible to achieve."

"And...you can do this whenever, wherever?"

"If I have the energy and the GPS coordinates."

"Holy shit..."

"Yeah. It's fairly difficult to do, but very useful to be able to take advantage of."

"And you didn't tell me this because...?"

"It's written in his alibi."

"Come. Let's go to dinner. We can all talk about it then. I've not eaten all day," Jimmy grumbled, stomach moaning in agreement. Cindy nodded and stated her concurrence, and without further procrastination, Jimmy flicked the light out and shut the dorm's door behind him.

* * *

_**Questions? Comments? I hope you all enjoyed it. Sorry if it seemed a bit dull, but I needed to get them all to England and I didn't want to wait for another plane ride; there's been enough of that for now. Everything becomes investigation fron here on up until the trial. Don't worry; there's plenty of little quirks and twists coming up. :)**_


	7. Shattered Past

_**A/N: Holy crap. I didn't expect to update so quickly, but yet, here we are. This one was technically not supposed to be posted for another...two hours or so (10:20 west coast), but I don't want to wait. This is my attempt at making up for my horribly long filler chapters. Sorry, guys, but hopefully this puts both an uncomfortable spin and a sense of business on the story. There should be a couple interesting ideas presented by Jimmy and Cindy near the end, as well as a cliffhanger. I would have kept going, but it's better to wait for another chapter. **_

_**DiceRox09: It seems that you are the only one I give shoutouts to anymore...but I suppose I need to give readers a chance to read and digest everything that's happened so far. Prissy's character was entirely of my own creation, but it is...allegorical, shall we say? I'm glad she amuses you, but there's not really much for her to say in this segment...there will be more in the next chapter, I promise. She had only received his file and knew his name, but she had never really read the file to get more information about him. The computer chip implant and the mind-swipe will both be used at least once, but no guarantees as to how or when. As for Jimmy's emotions...not everything can be bottled up. BQ should have some more connotation after reading this segment. As for trusting guys, I'm one of few who often gets people to trust him without really giving others real reason to trust me. :S But anyways, enjoy reading. **_

_**The same goes to the rest of you Jimmy Neutron fans! Enjoy my blurb!**_

* * *

The restaurant was a lovely, quaint little place on the corner of a major street intersection. They had walked and, as luck would have it, managed to fill the place of a canceled reservation in a wrap-around corner booth. Jimmy had kindly granted Priscilla permission to view his alibi statement as Cindy had recorded it, and had clarified things when necessary. He graciously paid the bill, then relocated the women to a nearby hotel, setting the three of them up with individual rooms that all linked together with doors. Priscilla had complained about clothes, but Cindy had quickly remedied that and offered to share hers, which thankfully were the exact sizes and brands she wore. They'd all bid each other goodnight and the clock on the wall was edging close to two in the morning when Jimmy found his way into the shower to wash the oil from his hair and the sweat from his pores.

_I should have told her. _

He sighed, the sound drowned out by the rain of cleansing water pouring over his body. Suds and lather fell from his body and down the drain in a tirade of foam and bubbles.

_She deserves to know. She said that she needs to know everything possible to save me._

He hung up the wash cloth on a small glass handle-like rod protruding from the wall in the shower before cutting the water flow. He stepped from the shower stall, steam rising from his body and cooling in the air. He grasped hold of the fluffy towel hanging on the rack outside the shower and thoroughly dried his hair and body before wrapping the towel securely around his waist. He looked at himself in the mirror as he extracted a hairbrush from the hypercube resting on the counter. He combed his hair backwards and down, letting it fall limply around his ears. It wasn't too long to make him look scruffy, but it wasn't so short to suggest that he appeared as a punk or hoodlum. He stuffed the comb back in his hypercube and sighed at himself one last time in the mirror.

_I should have told her everything._

He scooped up the hypercube and sauntered to the door, pensive and isolated. He grasped the doorhandle and opened it automatically, but managed to keep himself from falling over the feminine figure of Cindy Vortex standing at the door, her right arm up, fist poised and ready to knock.

Her blonde hair shined brilliantly in the light of the overhead halogen bulb, a fuzzy bath towel wrapped around the top of her chest like a strapless dress. She lowered her arm as she met his gaze.

"I, um...I wondered if you had an extra towel. I loaned my extra one to Priscilla to use for her hair."

"Oh, sure," he replied, stepping back into the steamy bathroom. He retrieved his spare towel from the shelf on the wall and passed it to her without hesitation. She took it, flipped her hair down, and wrapped the towel around it before tossing her head back up. Jimmy had forced himself to dig around in his hypercube for something so as not to see that which was forbidden.

"You alright, Jimmy? You have a very funny look on your face."

He withdrew his hand from the cube and looked up at her, as if being caught off-guard. "Oh, I was just looking for my toothbrush," he improvised, drawing it out with ease. He laid it on the counter and set the tube of toothpaste beside it. Cindy wasn't entirely convinced, but he appeared to be relaxed and at ease, so she let it slide for the moment.

"So, anything else I can get you?"

"Um...I'm not sure, actually..."

He pursed his lips. This wasn't the Cindy he'd grown up with, someone who always had the answers and knew herself. Or was it that she'd been lying to herself?

"Well, I'm just about to have a glass of wine before nodding off. Would you like some too?"

She blinked before temporarily rejoining eye contact with him.

"I would like that very much."

He was a bit miffed at her response, but stepped gently past her as she lingered in the doorway, the light clicking out as he passed. He reached down into the small fridge hidden under the counter in the main room and extruded a bottle of wine from within. From what Jimmy could deduce, it was a red wine, and had been aged for twenty years in a German wine cellar. He shrugged and slipped two wine glasses out of a small glass-doored cupboard, turning them upright and setting them on the counter in one smooth motion. He poured generous helpings of wine into the cups before recapping the bottle and placing it back in the fridge. Both glasses lifted from the counter into his hands, and he held one out to Cindy, who still seemed to be deeply pensive and in a daze or stupor of some kind.

"Something the matter?" he gently pried.

"I feel like something's amiss. Like...like there's something I should know that I don't."

Jimmy resisted the urge to let his face pale, something that was not easy for him to accomplish.

"What ever do you mean by that?"

"I feel like there's a missing link somewhere...something isn't adding up."

"About what?"

"Three years ago."

He couldn't help it; his face lost at least three tones of color, possibly a fourth. A chill ran from the top of his head down to his toes. He cleared his throat, still holding the full glass of wine in his hand.

"What exactly doesn't fit about it?"

He tipped the glass to his lips and gently swallowed the sweet-tasting alcohol, letting it cleanse his throat and thin his blood. _She's right...there's something not right about what happened._

"On that day...you didn't sound like yourself..."

"I could say the very same of you," he replied delicately, still holding the glass near his chin. Cindy took a small sip of her own drink, and it seemed to assuage her nerves a bit.

"I...I realize it was over the phone, but it didn't really seem like you..."

"What do you mean?"

"You were...harsh...and cold."

His blood ran as frigid as she spoke. _Harsh? Cold? Didn't SHE break up with ME?_

"What ever do you mean?"

"You weren't at all like your normal self. You told me that I could never measure up to you, that I was nothing, that I would never amount to anything..."

"Cindy...I don't know what it is you remember, but I assure you, I never said anything like that. If anything, you were the one who was harsh and cold."

"Me? What do you mean, _me?_"

"You made me angry, don't you remember?"

"Only because you provoked me!"

He sighed. "Cindy, let's not fight. Please. We're supposed to be working together."

She relaxed, her shoulders quaking as she took another long draught from the glass. She swirled the last of the flavor around her tastebuds for a moment before swallowing it.

"You're right. But even the case seems wrong. I feel like you haven't really divulged everything to me that I need to know."

"I have told you everything that is necessary for this case."

"What was the fourth thing on the shuttle, then?"

"That...is irrelevant."

"Jimmy, please...I need to know."

He locked eyes with her. "If you don't already know...I can't explain it to you. You wouldn't believe me, you wouldn't listen."

"I want to know, Jimmy, and I'm not leaving this room until you tell me."

She planted her feet apart adamantly, crossing her arms, still holding the half-empty wine glass in her hand. Jimmy took another gulp of the wine, realizing he had consumed less alcohol than she had. He did not know why he noticed this fact, but it seemed to make him all-the-more somber.

"Cindy...it's not that I don't want to tell you. It's...you have to figure it out for yourself..."

"Jimmy, I'm not going to play a guessing game with you. Tell me."

"I can't."

"You have a mouth and vocal cords. String the words together and just say it."

"You don't understand."

"Help me understand then!"

"I can't, Cindy."

"Damn it, Jimmy, just say it!"

"I can't!"

"Just fucking say it!"

"NO!"

Cindy took a step backward. The voice that had come from Jimmy's throat was not his own. It had been animal, almost primal in sound. This was not the Jimmy she knew. It looked like him, but the blazing maliciousness in his eyes and the heaving of his shoulders as he caught his breath was not of his own personality or doing. Her eyes widened.

"What the hell could make you tick so badly?"

"Something...that cannot...be explained..."

"Just say it, Jimmy," she commanded, getting her confidence back. She knew that he could not hit her, no matter what the circumstances.

"I can't, Cindy," he pleaded, turning away. She grasped hold of his forearm rather roughly and yanked on it, spinning him on the spot. He stared at her in surprise.

"Yes, you can. You're a _genius._ It can't be that hard for you to say what's on your mind. What do I need to know?"

"You don't need to know."

"I _do_, Jimmy! I can't get you off the hook if I don't know everything that could be used against either of us!"

"But it's so far removed from the issue at hand that it would be a waste of time for me to tell you."

"I don't care if it's about the fucking apocalypse, I need to _know!_"

"Alright!" he cried, giving in. He clenched his eyes shut, struggling to keep his hands from balling into fists. He backed up and sat slowly and heavily in a cushy hotel chair. He kept his eyes closed and drained the remaining wine down his throat, setting the empty glass on the counter. He scrubbed at his eyes with his hands, struggling to find an escape from the trap he'd walked into. He could see none but to press forward.

"Cindy...I...it's not easy for me to say what's truly going on in my mind. I...being accused of murder has forced me to censor just about everything that I say. For our government to have sunk so low that not even justice, honor, pride, and integrity can keep innocent men from sitting behind the bars of the guilty, I have to keep my mouth shut. But you're so bent on weaseling the information from me anyways...if you can even call it information."

"Please, Jimmy, stop with the head games. I just need to know what you had to say."

"Three years ago..."

She waited patiently while he rubbed his temples. Finally, he opened his eyes, though they were unfocused and distant.

"Three years ago, there was a phonecall. I have neglected to remember who called who, but I do remember we had a nasty fight. I ended it. And I regretted it for long after. Because...because whenever I said that I loved you...I meant it...with everything that I was, everything that I had, everything that meant anything to me could not compare to how I felt for you."

He could feel his cheeks heating up, and stopped. Cindy blinked at him before falling clumsily into a nearby chair, her wineglass thankfully empty and resting on the counter. She looked at him weakly, her knees shaking and unable to support her weight.

"You...you _loved _me? Then why did you end it?"

"Because...it would be easier for you."

"How?"

"I didn't want you holding on to the hope of seeing me again when I went away for college. I didn't want that pain, that burden, that sin to linger with you, to follow you like a shadow, always there, always oppressive, always black and imposing. I didn't want to hinder you from becoming yourself, the you that you've become today."

"Jimmy...there's something you never knew...a-and since-"

"No, wait. I'm not finished yet."

She paused, and he sighed heavily. "I said I loved you for a long time after the break-up...It has been three years and I've still not been able to bring myself to getting over what we had, what I gave up. I was stupid, I was foolish...I lied to myself. I hurt you, and I had no right to do so."

"Jimmy...now it's your turn to listen," she said shakily. "The night b-before graduation...do you r-remember?"

"As if it was yesterday."

"W-well...I-I started feeling very...odd...and I went into the doctor for a general check-up to see if I had a cold or something...a-and he told me the news."

"What news," Jimmy asked numbly.

"The news that I...I was...p-pregnant...with your child."

Jimmy closed his eyes, the lids very heavy and tired. _Pregnant? With my child?_

"Y-you had already g-gone, a-and I didn't w-w-want to bother you, s-so I d-didn't say anything to anyone b-but my m-mom...b-but when I hit a-about fifteen w-weeks...I..."

She curled into a fetal position and began sobbing into her knees. Jimmy opened his eyes to the sound of her anguish. He slid out of the chair and to his knees, still confused about what she implied.

"What happened at fifteen weeks, Cindy?"

She sniffled, then mumbled it so quietly that Jimmy missed it. He looped an arm around her shoulders and leaned in.

"What?"

She sobbed again, then drew in a deep breath. "I...had a...m-miscarriage..."

She returned to sobbing into her knees, but the sounds fell on Jimmy's deaf ears. He was mortified, draped over Cindy like a large blanket of comfort and consolation while feeling like a ton of bricks had struck him square in the head, in the chest, in the gut, in the groin. His legs were so limp that he couldn't hold himself up; his arms were so heavy they felt as though the could crush anything they landed on. A stabbing icicle of pain has slammed into his heart and continued to pulse and expand outward from there, growing in intensity and vehemence until Jimmy's body went from pain to numbness to nothing. He felt empty and ill, like he had been violently sick and there was nothing more for his body to expel. It was the absolute most horrible feeling in the world, and he couldn't begin to comprehend the pain and suffering that Cindy had been through, all the hurt and sorrow and injustice she'd been served for the past three long, cold, harsh years.

"Why me, Jimmy?" she whispered through her tears. "Why me?"

He was neglect to respond, the sensation of speech and vocalization escaping him. Even the simple task of breathing seemed to take a great deal of effort, as though an elephant had dropped all its weight onto his ribcage. He used what remaining movement he had left to lift his head up to Cindy's temple, where he placed a gentle kiss as a single cold, cruel tear dripped from his eye into the damp roots of her blonde hair. She sighed very unstably into her arms while Jimmy tried to tell his body to stand; it was several minutes before he could delegate the movements to his muscles. He finally managed to stand, and gazed at his hands in shock and disbelief.

_Miscarriage._

He scooped Cindy up, one arm under the backs of her knees, the other behind her shoulders, and cradled her gently in his arms, letting her gentle weight rest on him. He laid her gently on the second bed in the room and slipped the comforter over her, nice and warm and fuzzy. He gently pulled the bottom edge of the towel that was around her body until it came completely free from her body and slipped out the side of the bed, then did the same with the towel around her hair. She gazed up at him blearily.

"Sleep," he choked hoarsely. "We have a long day in the morning."

He then shuffled to the light switch and flicked it off, plunging the room into blackness. He dropped her two towels on the floor in the bathroom, reaching into his hypercube for a set of boxer shorts and flannel pajama bottoms to sleep in. He tugged the towel off and slipped the garments on, staying silent and numb. He stumbled to his bed and fell into it heavily, his brain shutting down quickly for the night, limbs heavy, heart in pieces.

_(time lapse; the stupid asterisks and tildes don't carry over into FFn...damn them...Maybe I'll have to use horizontal ruling bars from now on)_

"Are you two okay? You look like you didn't sleep a wink last night."

Jimmy nodded, gazing into his steaming cup of coffee. He had only taken a small sip and it had only served to bring his mind further back into the present day at a painfully slow rate. He sighed.

"I...We...had a long day yesterday."

Priscilla gazed between them, unconvinced. Jimmy looked by far the worst for the wear; his hair was a tousled mess, his shirt was wrinkled, he had deep purple bags under his bloodshot, dull-blue eyes, his hands were clammy and cold, his whole body seemed limp and unresponsive. Cindy had managed to pull her hair into a nice bun and had applied enough makeup to restore part of her face to normal, but the bags still showed, and the lack of sparkle in her now-dull, bloodshot chartreuse eyes was not present. They both looked as though they'd been awake all night long, tired beyond all reasonable explanation.

"Are you sure you guys are up to an investigation today?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Cindy muttered, sipping from her cup. Jimmy decided he needed a jumpstart and chugged the entire cup down his throat. Priscilla gaped.

"Jimmy, that coffee had to be at least two-hundred degrees in temperature."

He could feel it scalding his throat somewhere off in the distance, but paid it no mind; the caffeine had just started to hit his bloodstream and he suddenly felt awake.

"I'll be alright," he grunted hoarsely. He sounded as though he'd swallowed a toad.

"Oh...kay..." Priscilla blinked. Cindy, too, had drained her coffee and gazed at the table in a stupor.

"So, shall I pay?" Jimmy offered.

"No, no, I already took care of it," Priscilla soothed, waving for him to sit down. He stood regardless.

"No, we have to get going. There's something out there worth finding, I just know it."

Priscilla seemed utterly floored at the confidence imbued into his voice. Cindy stood up beside him.

"I agree. Where should we go look?"

Now she was nothing short of confused. "Whoa, what came over you guys?"

"Coffee. Caffeine. I just needed a pick-me-up," Jimmy stated quickly. He scooped his hypercube from the table and clipped it to his belt before charging out the door of the restaurant. Cindy followed in his wake, leaving Priscilla to run and call for them to wait up. Thankfully, both she and Cindy had elected to wear comfortable shirts, fitting pants, and tennis shoes, so they could run to catch up with Jimmy as he headed straight for the park. He stopped at the entrance to wait for the girls to catch up, Cindy who looked determined, Priscilla who was panting and shocked.

"Why the sudden fire, Jimmy?"

"No reason," he stated calmly. Priscilla raised an eyebrow, breathing deeply.

"Then why did we have to rush?"

"I'm awake. Would you rather I drag my feet in a stupor?"

"No-"

"Problem solved," he said, closing the conversation. He strode away briskly into the park, emerging in the heart of the field. Cindy strode up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder; he reached into his hypercube and pulled out a digital camera, her own personal digital camera that she planned to use to take pictures of possible evidence or clues. The first place they went was straight toward a cordoned-off square of sidewalk that had a chalk line drawn around it. Officer Blark was already on the scene; it was after eleven in the morning, after all, and he had elected to take the flight with Detective Flatfoot rather than travel via teleport.

"Ah, Ms. Serafie. Detective Flatfoot was wondering where you were."

"Nevermind that, nevermind that. What have you got for me?"

"We closed off the entire park on Friday in the early hours of the morning. Nobody without special permission or police authorization was allowed to enter. You, the prosecutor, and the suspect were already approved ahead of time," he stated plainly.

"What else?"

"Well, we found something rather interesting. Look here."

He lifted the yellow CAUTION tape up and ushered the trio into the square, where they stood around the chalk outline.

"Look at the sidewalk."

All three of them looked around and quickly found what looked like a very large bullet hole, complete with impact marks and cracks surrounding it. It was about two feet to the east of the victim's head from where she had fallen. Jimmy scrutinized the hole and pulled a pencil and laser-ruler from his hypercube. He began drawing lines relating to the possible position of the victim when she'd been shot and did some complex number calculations in his head.

"Well, Blark? Thoughts?"

He turned away from eying Jimmy suspiciously and addressed Priscilla respectfully. "Ah, well, my theory is that this is possibly a stray bullet hole, maybe from a secondary shot or another weapon."

"Impossible; the size of the hole and surrounding damage indicates at least a forty-five caliber bullet up to a sixty caliber bullet. I've not heard of too many readily-available firearms with that kind of bullet size," Jimmy stated as he sketched angles and lines on the sidewalk. Blark glared at him before turning back to Priscilla.

"Er, well, now that the bullet hole is confirmed from the gun size in question, there arises the issue of direction. The shot fired into Ms. Benson struck her at a one-hundred-and-forty degree angle to her back, assuming her left arm is zero degrees. However, that bullet was recovered and is being analyzed."

"Which means that it came from behind that bush right there," Jimmy indicated, pointing directly at a bush about five hundred yards away, across the large span of grass in the center of the park. "This also coincides with the way she fell; a simple rubber scan indicates that she stood here," he drew rough oval-like outlines on the ground that slightly overlapped the grass, "when she was shot, then spun to her left from the force of the impact and landed as you see. However...I am inclined to believe that this is not entirely accurate, as she would have rotated a further twenty-six degrees before landing-"

"What does it mean," Priscilla pressed.

"It means that even though the bullet may have struck her at one-hundred-and-forty degrees from her left-hand-direction, the bullet fired into her was the second one to be shot. The first one fired impacted the ground at more of a vertical angle, meaning it impacted something else that changed its flight path on the way down."

"Blark, what would have caused it?"

He cleared his throat. "Although Detective Flatfoot now has the evidence in its uncontaminated state, I remember that witness testimony said that the victim was holding her textbook at the time of the shot."

"That would make sense," Jimmy reasoned. "She stood this high," he held his hand up, using himself as a reference, "And if she was standing at this position when the shot was fired, she would have fallen and landed like so," he mimicked, using his hands and feet to align him with where he would have landed. It did not match the chalk lines. "However, if she was holding a textbook with her right arm, and she happened to be holding it out for some reason, the porous paper would have deflected the bullet from this point here," he pointed to an imaginary spot of air, "into the ground instead of following a normal trajectory into the grass just beyond the edge of the sidewalk. That impact could have sent her arm back in, thus just turning her in the exact position she was fired at from the impact, then the resulting shot turned her not quite as far, since her body was still turning from the prior shot. In other words, the puncture hole in that textbook is the exact reason she fell at the angle she did."

"Why is this such a big deal to you, Mr. Neutron?" Priscilla asked sternly.

"This means a great deal, because it clarifies that indeed two shots were fired, one into the textbook, one into the victim. It tells us that the gun was fired twice, even if there is a peculiar contradiction here."

"Which would be?"

"The location of the second bullet."

Cindy paled. "Jesus, you're right! Where could it be?"

"It seems to have struck the ground quite hard, meaning it buried itself in and couldn't have rebounded against the concrete. However, based on the depth of the cavity, there is no possible way that the bullet just buried itself into the ground. No, this bullet was removed from the scene of the crime before the police arrived on the scene."

Priscilla looked very angry. "Blark! Who was here on the scene when the officers arrived?"

"Er, well, I was the first one here, and I immediately located two witnesses, one who claimed to have a name of Luke Datowey, the other who called herself Betty Quinlan.

Jimmy's eyes lit up. "Cindy, I now know how she fits into this case. She was talking with the witness at the time of the murder, according to these traces of rubber found here. And these ones here were of Mr. Datowey; it seems they were all having a conversation of sorts. Meaning...that one of them knows the truth."

"Luke had used that payphone over there," Blark pointed, "to make the call, saying there had been a murder in the Wonderland park. According to his eyewitness account, two shots rang out as you said, one which struck the book and hit the concrete, the other which struck the victim in the back of the heart a mere two seconds later."

"Two seconds? To unload and reload a fifty caliber bullet? That is not your average gunman, sir; this man was a professional or a specialist."

"How do you know?"

"It takes the average person about six to seven seconds to unload and reload a thirty-thirty rifle, let alone a fifty caliber long-range sniper rifle. Sir, this is not just a case of murder; this murder was staged and planned!"

"How can you be so certain, Mr. Neutron?" Priscilla demanded.

"The textbook. There must have been something inside it, something that the gunman wanted eliminated, something that would have been incriminating evidence against him. Otherwise, what would be the point in shooting it?"

"Maybe he was aiming for someone else?"

"Blark!" she barked.

"Y-yes?"

"While the possibility exists, I believe Mr. Neutron's theory holds more water. His theory implies a motive for the murder, something that is needed in order to establish a convincing defense or attack strategy."

Cindy took a photo of the chalk lines, a photo of the lines Jimmy had penciled into the ground, and photos of all the traces of rubber that had marked the soles of the witness' feet. She got several shots of the bullet hole and began punching in scores of notes about the conversation taking place and the evidence and facts supporting the theories. She gasped.

"Officer Blark may need a bit more credit?"

"What?" Priscilla asked incredulously.

"Well...What if maybe the killer didn't see a reason to shoot the textbook? What if maybe, he also had to shoot Betty since she was a witness?"

"I thought of the same thing, Cindy," Jimmy said, nodding in agreement. "But the facts just don't line up. Why would the killer only shoot one witness, not both of them? After all, Mr. Datowey _was _a witness, wasn't he?"

"Yes. As I said, he was the one who called."

"Isn't it possible though that he just happened to be walking by when Betty shouted for help?" Cindy countered.

"But then the gunman would have fired a third shot, and none of the testimonies stated three shots. Besides, the testimonies both linked up in agreeing that the two had met for conversation before the victim had joined in, not that Mr. Datowey just happened to be walking along at the time of the shooting," Blark recalled.

"Alright, so we can rule out eliminating witnesses, which means that Jimmy's theory is the only one that really makes any kind of sense," Cindy restated, jotting down the notes on the tablet. Priscilla gazed at it in wonder.

"What on earth is that?"

"It's the world's thinnest, most high-tech tablet computer designed and built by our suspect, Mr. Neutron."

Priscilla gaped at him. "Are you planning on making more?"

"Well...maybe once this case is over, if I'm labeled innocent."

"Sign me up for about three hundred of those. I've got a whole team of investigators and officers who could use things like this."

Blark cleared his throat. "Not to detract from your little tech talk, but there are a few more things I'd like to show you, including something that is here at the crime scene. Look at those indents in the grass."

Jimmy pivoted in place and immediately located three small indentations into the soft loam beneath the lush grass. He snapped his fingers.

"Her telescope. This looks to be the marks of her tripod from her second stargazing session, when the heavens rotated. I can imagine she was laying...somewhat like this," he guessed, extending his arms as though he had a telescope on a tripod before him. "If this is the case, then that leads me to believe that her head was in the prime position for her to be murdered with no witnesses. Why, then, did the killer wait until she stood up, turned around, and engaged in conversation? Why wouldn't he just kill her as she was, lying open and exposed?"

"Hmm...why indeed..." Priscilla mused. Cindy had her turn to snap her fingers.

"It's symbolic."

"Say what?"

"Think about what Jimmy said. Why not just kill her with a clean shot to the head? It would be easier and would have left fewer clues. I think that it is possible that Ms. Benson lived for a short time after being shot, while the last of the oxygen went to her brain as she laid dying. The shot to the heart was intended to inflict pain while she died, suffering for the victim, possibly in revenge for something she may have unintentionally done, harm she may have caused, some problem she may have created, even if she didn't know it. The shot in the heart was symbolic, possibly of her breaking someone else's."

Jimmy raised his eyebrows, standing back up. "I never would have thought of it that way, Ms. Vortex, but it makes sense in a spiritual sense." He nodded his head slowly and thoughtfully. "That would even establish a solid motive."

Cindy let a small, smug smile cross her face at her deduction. _Jimmy's not the only one with ideas._

"Hey, who is that?"

The four of them turned toward the entrance of the park to see a rather disgruntled someone approaching, and by the look of his gait, he either had bad news or had woken up on the wrong side of the bed that morning. Jimmy seriously hoped for the wrong side of the bed, because Detective Flatfoot presenting bad news for them wouldn't go well with Cindy.


	8. Evidently Inconclusive

**_A/N: I'll keep it brief, since I want you to read. I just want to say that I'm not one to usually update three chapters in about twenty-four hours time. I can only promise you that you probably will not see a day where I can blow out fifteen thousand words in twenty-four hours of time, especially with semester finals approaching at the end of this month. However, I will make a very strong and honest effort to keep you all up-to-date with Jimmy's situation._**

**_DiceRox09: Yes way did I just throw that in there with everything! I had to bring a bit more emotion into this case. You won't read any more about it this chapter, but next chapter should have more information and sentimental value. As for the breakup...there's something not quite 100% there. I'll not give away any details, though. His deductions are based entirely on his genius gene and his incredible amount of intelligence. Since he deals in fact, his emotions come second, and I guarantee you that it will become the crux of an argument with Cindy in future chapters. As for your ideas, I'm curious. Do tell me who you had in mind, and I'll let you know whether or not your guesses hold any water. ;)_**

**_Anyways, to all my readers and reviewers, I don't know when I'll next update, so without further ado, here's Chapter 8!_**

* * *

"Hey," Flatfoot called as he approached. Everyone had focused their attention on him.

"Ms. Serafie...Ms. Vortex...I have evidence for you both to look at and analyze, when you get a moment. And...I also have some bad news."

"What's the bad news?"

"The court will be closed next week. Which means that the first trial date is Wednesday. It's a three-day trial instead of a five-day."

"Th-three days?" Priscilla balked.

"Hey, calm down," Jimmy soothed. "That's plenty enough time for you both to come up with theories and claims. I'm sure there's enough evidence to be gone over and had out to decide a verdict, right?"

"Ah, well, see, that's the thing...all the evidence only seems to point toward you having had a hand in this. Even those pencil marks are suspicious."

"What, because I accurately deduced the possible chain of events that happened here through basic math and logical reasoning?"

"Yeah, that."

"Detective, you need to understand something," Cindy interjected. "My client is a _genius_. A recent IQ test claims that he is upwards of two-hundred IQ points, possibly even upward of two-hundred-and-fifty points. Whether he committed the murder or not is negligible at this point; there's no way he could have known that the bullet hole made in the ground even existed."

"Hey, wait...then how would he have known that it was the victim's second stargazing point of the night?" Blark needled.

"Simple. The three of us went to dinner last night, where Ms. Serafie explained the purported chain of events to us."

"Ms. Serafie! What is the meaning of this," Blark shouted indignantly.

"My client and the prosecution deserve to be well informed of the events that are suspected to have transpired here that night, since they both claim to have been nowhere within the vicinity."

"B-but-"

"Can it, Blark."

He closed his mouth and glared at Jimmy, who shrugged and turned back to Detective Flatfoot. "So, where is the alleged shooting hideout?"

"Ah, that's tricky to get to. See, there's no real trail leading up there, and there's a lot of trees blocking the path-"

"Well, you'll be satisfied to know that the hideout area Ms. Serafie proposed last night is not where the shot came from, even though my rifle was found there."

"Hold it!" Cindy cried. "Your _rifle?_"

"I purchased a thirty-aught-six with a high-resolution scope. However, I can assure you that even as Ms. Serafie stated my gun was found at the scene of the crime, it is not the real scene of the crime. My gun was used as a set-up, a trap. It is false evidence."

"How can you be so certain?"

"The bullet size, shape, and angle doesn't match the information we've received thusfar. The gun may have belonged to me, but it has never been fired once to this date."

"Never once?"

"Never once with my permission, that is. And I would bet my life on that statement."

_He seems really sure of it..._ "But then, how did your gun get here?" Cindy asked.

"Theft, possibly. I'm sure it's at least somewhat possible that it could have happened, since I was out of my room during class time and didn't check beneath the bed when I returned. Ms. Serafie stated that the gun was found at the shooter's hideout, in a place I had been known to go with the victim late at night. I would be very curious as to who would have been paying attention to me enough to know my favorite places to go and favorite times to go there."

"Someone who knew you very well, maybe?" Cindy suggested hopefully.

"Not very likely. I didn't know hardly anyone here except Celeste. I preferred to work alone, even as she wished to work together. She claimed that I was a standard, a world record of sorts, and that she had to beat me fair and square in order to truly feel accomplished."

"Then I don't get it," Cindy grumbled. "Who would have paid that much attention to you?"

He paused, pupils dilating slightly. "Someone who was interested in her, perhaps? Ms. Serafie, where did that piece of information come from?"

"An anonymous tip, once the media got ahold of the information regarding you and this murder. Either someone wanted to frame you or someone just really wanted her dead."

"Or both."

"Or both," Priscilla concurred. Jimmy stood and began marching across the grass.

"Where are you going, Mr. Neutron?"

"To the hideout. Or, rather, as it should be called, to the 'nebula nest'."

"Nebula nest?"

"It's ideal for stargazing," he replied over his shoulder as the attorneys began to follow him, along with the detective and the officer. He trekked up a grassy incline, then slipped between two trees and onto a well-worn dirt path that ran off into the dense darkness of the trees.

The group caught up to the genius as he stood surveying the scene. "Someone...was here. Actually, technically, a lot of people were here, but I can see footprints that were created around the time of the murder." He was scanning the ground with his 'rubber-rod' and kept isolating purplish footprints on the ground that strongly matched the time of the murder. He squatted beside the prints, which sat at a log that Jimmy had dragged there. Then they had stood and shuffled over to the very edge of the nest and had paused, then turned and went back out the entrance.

"Interesting...Shortly after the murder, this person stood up and looked out into the forest. He then turned and headed out, possibly back down into the heart of the park as another witness. What was his name?"

"Ehm...I think her name was a Ms. Gabriella Saunit. If memory serves, she had a camera around her neck that evening. Coincidentally, a film wrapper was found lodged in the bush here, as though stuffed hastily out of sight."

Cindy had already captured photos of everything in sight and was typing furiously on the tablet. Jimmy had showed her the hovering feature it had built-in so that she didn't have to hold it while she typed.

"I would suspect it belonged to her."

"We can't be certain of that...analysis revealed that your fingerprints were on the package."

"Hmm..." he sat on the log, lost in thought. "Ah! Celeste."

"Celeste?"

"On the day I came here and took some photos, the likes of which Cindy has notes about, I gave her two film rolls, brand new, for her to use on her telescopic camera. It's an old-fashioned-type camera, but she loved it and wouldn't give it away or get a new one, so I had to hunt hard for the film. It was to be a parting gift. I guess when I let the wrapper go, it just kinda blew into the bush."

"Why didn't you say anything about this?" Cindy broke in accusingly.

"Because it's irrelevant to the case. Why would a film wrapper be decisive evidence?"

"It proves you were here at some point on Thursday," Priscilla pointed out.

"Need I remind you both that I was here during lunch, not during the murder? Check my alibi again if you don't believe me."

Cindy waved his words away. "So,where do you suspect the shot was fired from?"

"About...two hundred yards that way," he directed, pointing with his right hand. "And by my guess, the witness here, Ms. Saunit, may have captured a photo of the killer fleeing the scene of the crime."

"She did claim that she had a photo, but it's not very clear who it is at present time. The photo is mottled and dark."

"Which is understandable; this forest tends to fall into an abyssal darkness at night."

He stepped over the log and began walking toward the alleged shooter's hideout, pausing every now and again to look at a nearby tree or shrub. Finally, he stopped, standing near the edge of the forest.

"This is the bush I pointed at from ground level. This is the only mathematically correct place that such a pair of shots could have come from. Indeed, there are scuff marks and what looks like the indentation of a rifle's bipod right at the edge of the treeline. Meaning...AHA!"

Everyone jumped; several birds took flight from nearby trees. Jimmy pointed triumphantly at a large tree, where tiny letters had been scribed. Cindy captured several photos of the writing, then decoded it.

3 deg by N/NE

7 mph

5 deg by S/SW

4 mph

"What does it mean, Jimmy?"

"It means that someone knew what he was doing."

"But...then...was it really a professional?"

"Not necessarily a professional marksman, as he wouldn't have left so many clues. No, this was someone who obviously had a lot of practice at shooting. I would say it would take most people about six years to learn how to shoot with that kind of accuracy and speed."

"Any ideas as to who?" Cindy inquired.

"None yet. I haven't met any of the witnesses or other people involved."

A loud, gruff curse met the group's ears. They all turned and looked at the detective as he put his phone away.

"Ms. Vortex, Ms. Serafie, Mr. Neutron...the judge decided he wants to take Friday off, meaning your trial starts at ten o'clock tomorrow morning."

"_WHAT?_" Priscilla roared. She sounded scary when angered. Jimmy busied himself with finding more clues.

"What the hell do you mean, _he wants to take Friday off?_ Is he out of his fucking mind? We _need _the investigation time! I don't even have any definitive conclusions about what the hell happened here! _What is the judge playing at?_"

"Hey, easy, easy, Ms. Serafie," the detective said nervously, still trying to maintain a professional respect and attitude toward his sister. "I realize the pressure he's putting on you, but is it really so bad?"

This merely led to another explosive retort and several disturbing images that spouted from her mouth, the likes of which Jimmy tuned out as he looked around. He beckoned Cindy over to look closely at the ground a little ways away. She gasped, then whistled loudly. The remaining three standing near the bush looked to the noise.

"Oi! Get over here!"

They strode over, still grumbling. However, Priscilla soon lost her anger to shock.

"What is this?"

"Tire tracks. From a truck, I would guess...It seems to have parked here for at least a half-hour before the murder, and based on the age of these tracks," he paused, the tire marks crushed in the dirt under close scrutiny by another scanner wand, "they were here at least five minutes after the murder took place, meaning that the person who owns this truck did, in fact, witness – or even commit – this murder."

There was a stunned silence that gathered in the forest to surround the group of five. Cindy and Priscilla looked at each other uneasily.

"Right...Detective, we need to get back to the precinct and get at that evidence you have. I need to work closely with Ms. Vortex and Mr. Neutron to create and support a possible chain-of-events. Neither of you object, yes?"

They didn't even manage to form a response in their minds; she had already turned on her heel, giving Cindy just enough leeway to take a photo of the tracks and record the suspected series of events that had been projected by Jimmy. The group emerged back in the now-slightly-past-noon sunshine, awaiting the detective for guidance and a car ride. He ushered the three sleuths into his car; Blark was instructed to maintain a severe cordon around the park, with guards at every possible entrance or exit and spread between unlikely areas of breach; nobody ever truly knew when anything would happen.

"So, what are you hoping to find, sis?" Detective Flatfoot asked, losing his professional demeanor for a more relaxed one. Priscilla slumped her shoulders in fatigue.

"I'm hoping beyond hope that the evidence you have down at the precinct is enough for me to form a basic chain-of-events, as what Mr. Neutron has proposed happened is not strong enough on its own without justifiable evidence to support it, no matter what the mathematics may say to the contrary."

"Would you like me to continue with my deductions based on what I see and can measure?" he asked politely from the back seat.

"Jimmy, I don't know that there'd be any way for you to be a part of this case and _not _use that brain of yours. Cindy told me not all that long ago that you've got quite the genius gene; perhaps it'll be your key to getting out of jail."

"It could just as easily be what puts me there, you know. It's as much a curse as a gift."

Priscilla ground her teeth together in frustration. "I know with every fiber that I am that you're innocent, but I doubt the judge will say the same. He's a bit dim-witted and often needs to be led by the hand in order to see the reality, the truth of events as they happened."

"Ah. Well, then, I'm sure I can help make things crystal clear and easy enough for a child to understand."

"I hope so. For all of our sakes."

The car stopped on the side of the road in front of a large stone building with a gorgeous glass face to it that greeted all passerby both politely and ominously, as though exuding the feeling of being watched. They all stepped from the vehicle and merged into a line into the precinct, though Jimmy left his wrists showing and did nothing to hide them. Priscilla threw her shoulders back and walked proudly and stiffly, as she had when around Officer Blark. She wrenched open the door.

"You first, convict."

"But of course, _mademoiselle_," he returned respectfully, traipsing gently over the threshold, head held high and proud. Several officers walking past in the perpendicular hall ahead glanced at the door before doing a double-take and drawing their guns.

"Hands behind your back! Get on the ground! You're wanted for the murder of Celeste Benson," the head officer accused. Jimmy stood and simply looked the man in the eyes, indifferent.

"Are you to imply that I've not taken all proper precautions with this suspect," Priscilla called from the door, striding up behind him and laying her right hand on his left shoulder. Cindy did likewise with his right shoulder and her left hand. The officer looked warily between them.

"I'll have your badge for this, Serafie. You can't let a murderer walk free in a police precinct!"

"Actually, Mullins, I can. Stand down or I will disarm, arrest, and demote you myself."

His eyes widened and he paled, hastily stowing the gun back in its holster, strapping the clasp. "Now, now, no need for that," he returned shakily. "But he's a murderer! Murder in the first degree!"

The look she gave him reduced him to a smoldering ball of ashes in the pit of a long-since-gone fire. He very nearly bolted away from her on all fours, the entire squadron following him in a similar fashion. Priscilla looked smugly at Jimmy, who was still indifferent to the proceedings.

"Flex a little judicial muscle and they all run away like mutts."

"Why do you keep such a harsh appearance with them?"

She scoffed. "Come now, Mr. Neutron. If I didn't," she trailed off, stepping ahead of him and looking at him over her shoulder, "then nothing would ever get done."

She grasped the hem of her shirt and mock-curtseyed. Jimmy snorted; the act was so terribly misplaced and mistimed that it was all he could do not to burst into raucous laughter.

"Now, convict, follow me. And don't try anything funny."

"Never without permission, ma'am," he replied, following a couple steps behind her. He could feel Cindy behind him, the feeling of her hand still remaining on his shoulder, even long removed. They traipsed down several hallways until they reached a door that read "Criminal Investigations: Evidence Chamber." She ushered them all inside before locking the heavy oak door from within, sealing them inside a room so securely it might as well have been a prison.

"Alright, Spero. Whatcha got for me?"

"Well, there's this," he said, pointing at the textbook. It indeed had a large, slightly sloped bullethole through the center of the title. Jimmy looked at the top of the pages and noted a single sheet protruding from within. He flipped the book hastily open to the page, where there laid not a single sheet of paper, but an envelope. It read "CONFIDENTIAL" in big, black, capital letters. Jimmy extracted it and slid the flap open, pulling a single sheet of paper from within it. There were three holes in the triple-folded paper from where the bullet had smote through, but Jimmy could piece the note together well enough. His scowl grew deeper and deeper as he read the note. Both attorneys looked at him expectantly as he finished the paper.

"Well?"

He grumbled something incoherent before handing the note off to Cindy. She shared it with Priscilla, and they both read together.

_To Ms. Celeste Benson,_

_I just thought I'd let you know that your brother got out of prison a week ago, and that I agree with his sentiments. He was truly a genius, a real man who overpowered those who could be overpowered. He lived for his own personal gain, and I agree with everything he did to the fullest. It also lightens my heart to say that I took no greater personal pleasure in triumphing over you at everything you tried to do. I laugh every night at remembering how hurt your expression looked that day, how angry or sad or frustrated you were that day. I suppose it was to be expected, though; I am, after all, a genius by nature and trade. You can't outsmart me._

_But, nonetheless, if you're willing to try, I'll be waiting for you in the park tonight. If you have the gall to try and stand over me, then please, I beg you to try. Eleven-fifteen tonight by American time, twenty-three-fifteen here. In the park. Near middle of the sidewalk, by the pay phone and the overhead lamp. I'll be waiting to mock you once again, Ms. Benson._

_James Neutron, Your Superior_

Both women looked at each other in horror. They then turned to Jimmy.

"I probably should have forewarned you," the detective mumbled, a grimace on his face. Jimmy looked at the women with a hardened expression, eyes blazing in anger.

"You do realize that, not only is that not my handwriting, but that I thought nothing but positive things about her?"

"I realize, Jimmy, but the fact that someone could write that to her and use it as a lure...who would have the guts? The sheer fucking guts?"

"Someone who obviously wanted her dead, and wanted me labeled murderer. Someone who hated her as a person and me for being near her."

"And I'm guessing you have no leads?"

"None. What's next, Detective?"

He scratched his head. "Er, well, there's the bullet that we pulled from her heart..."

Indeed, there was a bloody bullet sealed inside a plastic bag without air or contaminant. It looked as though it had struck something rather forcefully with the nose cone, which was a tad flattened.

"I need the autopsy report," Jimmy stated, pulling a set of glasses with a digital video camera set into the nose-bridge, a camera that could zoom in or out of objects and project the image accurately into the glass. He looked carefully at the ballistic markings that were minutely engraved into the bullet, looked at the dulled impact point, the overall shape and composition of the object, including the blood.

"Where did you get this," he asked the detective as a folder was shoved into his hand.

"Autopsy is standard procedure. The bullet was found on the ground in the grass a little ways away."

"I thought as much. The blood traces show that the bullet only entered the body for a brief moment."

He zoomed the glasses out and pulled out the autopsy report. Under 'manner of death' read the print 'Shot in back through second rib. Bullet punctured upper-center of heart at 140 angle, exiting in straight line out of middle of breast.' He then looked to 'notes' and read 'Back of second rib broken from bullet impact. Oxygen in bloodstream ceased within two moments; brain died within five.' 'Cause of Death' stated 'Bullet impacted and destroyed heart before exiting left breast. Stoppage near- instantaneous; victim died maximum six minutes following.'

"So...the bullet pretty much destroyed her heart and then blew her chest open...broke the second rib from behind...it most likely shattered the second and third ribs on the way out from trajectory, but it is also possible that the sheer momentum of the round darted between the ribs after causing the destruction inside. Based on the impact marks on the tip of this bullet, I would have to agree with this autopsy and say that the investigators successfully deduced the method of death. Until we hear testimony tomorrow, we won't know what exactly to look for or use to modify or clarify the autopsy report. I can see several vague spots in this piece of evidence that can present contradictions in testimonies. Make sure you both have copies of the notes."

"I'm going to give Prissy a printed copy of what I'm writing down and noting, in exchange that she lists for me all the witnesses that she has come across and what roles they allegedly played in this murder. She'll also be giving me all their profiles, including their histories, social security numbers, ages, genders, backgrounds, ethnicities, everything."

"Sounds alright to me. As long as you both know what you're dealing with and what to expect."

He moved on to the next piece of evidence, his own rifle. He laughed.

"My thirty-aught-six? Detective, tell me something: have you investigated this rifle?"

"I took it as far apart as I could, then put it all back together."

"What did you notice?"

"Well, not much. It was in pristine condition and looked like it had never fired a shot before."

Jimmy grinned. "That's not the most interesting thing about it. Detective, allow me to illuminate: I never inserted the firing pin into the gun. Whoever it was that used the gun to frame me simply stole the gun from the case beneath my bed and placed it in my favorite location. However, the firing pin is most likely still in the case, which is inside my hypercube."

He reached into the cube and pulled out the rifle case, cracking it open and producing a shiny new firing pin. Cindy took a picture with her camera and continued punching notes into the tablet, leaving no detail unnoted. Jimmy then slipped the pin back into the case, and the case back into the cube, moving to the next piece of evidence.

A telescope. Not the one that Jimmy had purchased film for, no; one of a much higher caliber and magnification that unfortunately lacked the ability to take pictures of the heavens. He whistled lowly.

"This is one helluva telescope. This is probably the first I've seen of this caliber and intensity. This was at the scene of the crime, I presume?"

"Yes, it was," Detective Flatfoot replied calmly.

"It looks like it's still new." He looked delicately at the telescope and found a name written around the eyepiece: Skymaster.

"Skymaster Telescope Corp is probably one of the most high-quality telescope brands I've ever come across. Find out what model this is and how much it costs."

"Why does price matter," Priscilla asked.

"Everything matters. Right, Cindy?"

She nodded furiously in agreement as she pulled up an internet browser and searched for the requested information. "A-ha! Skymaster Telescope Corp. Let me see...this here model...looks to be the Skeyes Limited Edition Platinum Triple-extension model." She then gasped very audibly.

"I imagine this thing cost a pretty penny," Jimmy inferred, setting the telescope back on the table in a collapsed state.

"The listed selling price for this model is thirty thousand Euros. Unfortunately, if you wanted a duplicate, the model is no longer being shipped; only five-hundred were made, and all of them sold within a week of release."

Jimmy raised his eyebrows. "Thirty thousand Euros is quite the dent in one's pocket. I imagine one of her patents paid for that..."

"Looks like she got the Deluxe Nebula package, too, which includes a tripod, cleaning rags, a case, lens covers, lens protectors, and a ninety-degree eyepiece extension."

"Well, I see the lens protectors and the eyepiece, and the tripod is a given, so I guess that means that she did."

He stepped to the next piece of evidence, the film wrapper.

"Already accounted for," he said, not giving it a second glance.

Next up came a solitary string, about three inches in length.

"Where did you find this?" he asked incredulously.

"I located it near the area that you had allegedly hidden when shooting Ms. Benson."

"Meaning that either it was planted, which I doubt, or that it was an unintentional clue left by the real killer, which is more likely. Chances are it snagged something and the wind carried it to wherever you found it."

He scanned it with a small cube-shaped item from his hypercube. "Polyester, plastic, rubber...and nylon? What a strange combination...but there's only a few things that are made of these four materials all at once."

"And they would be...?"

"Overcoats, trenchcoats, select brands of sports coats, select brands of waterproof pants, rain boots, snowshoes, soft-tipped artist's pencils, and fire-starters."

"Is that all of them?"

"All that I can think of...I'm sure there's more that I've overlooked, but the list itself is pretty self-supportive, don't you think?"

"Well, maybe in your eyes, but the devil's in the details."

"I personally think that nobody will be quite so nitpicky with the overanalysis of one strand of string. I assure you of one thing: the only two professional jackets I own are not made of that combination of materials, and the actual coat-jackets I own for battling the weather don't match the color or amounts of materials present."

"And you can attest to this?"

"I have all four of the jackets in question in my hotel room. I can have either one of these lovely attorneys add all necessary information about them into their list of notes, should need be."

"It's not necessary, Jimmy. You already presented me with your alibi that you were sleeping at the time of the murder, and that is the simple, undeniable truth."

"Prove it to the judge, not me."

"So, what more can you deduce, Jimmy?"

"Well...at this point in time, I can only conjure up theories based on what we've found. But since I've not met the witnesses, I have no idea what other evidence they may bring to the table or use against me. I also have no idea what they would say about anything I could imagine or speculate. Besides, that's also kinda your job, isn't it?"

"I never said I didn't like help and reassurance," Priscilla countered wryly.

"Nonetheless...I've told you all I can. I can't state anything more for certain until I hear testimony. Only then will I attempt to piece the events together to the best of my ability."

Cindy was still typing furiously on the tablet while Priscilla looked on in mute interest. Jimmy turned to the detective.

"What's the chance of more decisive evidence turning up?"

"The only chance that more evidence will appear is if the witnesses produce more evidence, either in the form of photographs or testimonies."

"Hmm...Well, then I guess we're done here. I've said all I can at this point and time, and I must say, I'm a bit famished."

"Well, let's all go eat, then, and when we're done, you can tag along and meet the witnesses," Detective Flatfoot proposed.

"I somehow get the impression that meeting an alleged killer would do a number on their brains and hearts. No, I think I'll head back to my room after the meal to just think about what could happen if I'm pronounced guilty."

"Why so negative?"

"Because there is the very real possibility of a guilty sentence, no matter how hard these two fight for my innocence. In the end, the judge makes the final call."

"Do you even care?"

"Of course I care. It's my neck they're trying to save. I had better care, for their sake as much as mine."

"But don't you care about all the effort they've put in?"

"How could I not? Why else would I be so willing to help?"

"And yet, you decide to contemplate the possibility of guilt? I heard you were a genius, but apparently common sense and moral fiber weren't included in the brains you were given."

"And apparently you needed the genius gene. Think about it, Detective. I could be pronounced guilty of murder in the first degree. That's life in prison without parole. How realistic could I be?"

"You could try and smile a bit and appreciate all the work they've done."

"I can't smile about being called a murderer, Detective. I realize that I should always have the best of intentions, but unfortunately, murder is oftentimes frowned upon in our society. I've been accused of a violation of morality and integrity, and I'm supposed to _smile _about it? I could be on the chopping block, and I have to play this all as a _joke?_ Maybe you don't truly understand the severity of knowing that one false move could be the last, but it's nothing to _smile _or _joke _about."

"Stop. Now."

Both men turned to Priscilla. She was glaring daggers at the both of them.

"Prosper, think about his position. He's right. One mistake could literally kill him."

"And Jimmy, think about his ideas. He's right, too. You could be a little bit more positive."

"Now," she concluded, "let's all go out for some fine dining, shall we?"

And with that, she linked arms with Cindy and skipped out the door. Both of the men looked at each other with the same flustered expression on their faces.

"Women. They try to change you when you're with them, and you're accused of murder without them."

The detective laughed, breaking the tension. "Yeah, well. She only wants what's best. We really should join them, though. I could do with some food right about now."

"You aren't the only one," Jimmy replied. And with that, the detective locked and shut the door to the evidence chamber, leaving it devoid of light, life, and movement.


	9. Break The Silence

**_A/N: I'm sorry for not updating over the past few days; my life went a little awhall and I didn't get around to finishing this chapter. No new reviews, which means no new news, but hey, that's not necessarily a bad thing. Everyone gets busy, right? XD _**

**_Anyways, the story is as follows:_**

* * *

After eating the most exquisite gourmet Italian food of their lives, the group parted, letting Jimmy go to the hotel to sleep and think. He had looked very tired during lunch, something that had not translated into Cindy as well. However, undeterred, the trio made its way to the precinct, where Detective Flatfoot ushered them into a room labeled the "INVESTIGATIVE OFFICE." There were two officers standing at the first table, looking at a folder very closely. Cindy doubted they'd even noticed more people had entered the room.

The room did not appear as one would imagine an investigations office would. This room seemed to be a large, spacious room, much like a library, with filing cabinets and computers scattered around the room, an organized chaos of information. The smell of carbon-copy papers was very strong and noticeable, but not uncomfortable.

"Alright, you two sit here," the detective gestured, indicating a table near the far side of the room. It seemed to be the one table that had never been used; there was a fine layer of dust on the wood glossy finish over the wood. Priscilla gently blew it away and dusted the benches off, sitting opposite Cindy for discussion.

"Prosper should have the files in a moment, once he pulls them out of the restricted cabinet."

"The restricted cabinet?"

"A solitary black filing cabinet in the darkest corner of the files library. It has all the witnesses to murders, especially those that have no defined killer or unclear evidence. All of the witnesses for this case are probably in the top-most drawer, for open or unsolved cases."

Just then, Detective Flatfoot dropped a small stack of folders onto the table.

"Here's all the known witnesses for this case."

He then sat in a chair that backed up to a bookcase, leaned back, and pulled out the day's newspaper. The attorneys looked at each other and shrugged.

"Alright, who's first?" Priscilla asked, smiling.

"Well, here's a name I recognize. Betty Quinlan."

The totally unconcealed tone of utter hatred in her voice was not unnoticed by Priscilla. "Something the matter, Cindy?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing. Just...bad memories, that's all."

"What do you mean, bad memories?"

The blonde sighed, opening the folder and gazing at the photograph of the older version of the girl she'd come to despise. Admittedly, she was quite beautiful, but even Jimmy's brain-scan had said: there was nothing going on upstairs.

"It...she just wasn't very nice. I mean, I wasn't a basket of flowers, ever, to anyone, but she always acted like she was prim and proper and absolutely perfect even when she was pissing on everyone around her. She's just a stuck-up bitch."

"Well...it looks like we'll each be dealing with one."

"What do you mean," Cindy asked, gazing over the top of the manilla folder.

"I mean, Natalia Pandemna is probably worse than Betty Quinlan by several leagues."

"Do tell."

They laid the folders down. "Well, let me see...how about the time when I was a seven year old girl and she superglued my hair to itself?"

"Oh, no, Betty did worse. When I was eight, I sat down in class on top of a water balloon, and she told everyone I had wet my pants."

"Natalia still wins; she once put an open honey-jar into my backpack. On my walk home, a whole swarm of bees came after me. I still remember the millions of stinging needles."

"What about when Betty put a ball at the end of a slide that I landed on and broke my ankle with?"

"Mean, but I've got worse. In ninth grade, I had wanted to ask a boy out. She decided that she was more important and threw herself at him. He went out with her, had sex with her, and then she put dog shit in his locker with a post-it note that said "Love, Cindy" on it."

"Betty can top her yet. She denied me the ability to have a relationship with your client for seven long years, seven years that he lived in the house across the street. I finally got around to having a relationship with him, and she slandered my name as being an incompetent wench who needed something to cling to in order to feel important."

Priscilla gasped. "You mean you and Jimmy-"

"...were dating during our senior year of high school. I broke up with him when he acted like an ass on our graduation night."

"I think...I may have you beat. She met up with me in a bar once, about two years ago, and we both got a little tipsy. Well, at least, I thought she had, until I figured out that she could hold her liquor. She stole my clothes off my body and ran with them. I had to walk home in the dark and cold, with the word SLUT written all over my naked body in Sharpie."

Cindy gasped. "Yeowch. I don't think Betty ever went to such a personal level...but then again, she was mean to everyone."

"Natalia seemed to have it out for me."

Cindy sighed. "I'm going to stop reminiscing and hating Betty for a very brief moment to read her case file. I need to select at least one, probably two witnesses for tomorrow."

"Ah, yeah, prosecution picks witnesses. Hey, we have to go back to New York tonight for the trial tomorrow, don't we?"

"Yeah. It shouldn't be too big of a problem, though. I'll print you out a court record tonight."

"And I'll start telling you everything I know, starting with Ms. Quinlan."

Cindy laid the file open and spun it around so that Priscilla could read it. She pulled the tablet onto the table and began a new section in her notes titled WITNESSES.

"Alright, fire away."

"Betty Quinlan, age twenty-three, brown hair, brown eyes. Height, sixty-six inches. Weight, one-hundred-seven pounds. Slim build. Not much stands out about her except for her chest, which is a sizable thirty-six D."

"Duly noted," Cindy grumbled. Priscilla laughed.

"Hey, they may be natural, but her breasts are only used for one thing, and that is male attraction."

"True, but still...I'm just a tiny bit jealous."

"Cindy, honey, don't be like that. You're beautiful the way God made you to be."

"Still...Anyways, what else?"

"Her IQ test states that she's a bit more intelligent than we give her credit for. According to other sources, she's sly and sneaky and cunning and will do most anything to get her way. Don't be surprised if she tries to sneakily seduce the judge in court tomorrow."

"Noted. Whoring knows no bounds."

Priscilla laughed. "Agreed. Next person.

"Natalia Pandemna, age twenty-four, black hair, green eyes. Height, sixty-four-and-a-half inches. Weight, one-hundred-fourteen pounds. Slim build. She has a scar on her left cheek from an incident with a rottweiler when she was about four years old. She also had a cutting problem in the past and often used her wrist and a razorblade to vent her anger and sadness."

"Normal girl, looks okay, scar on left cheek, ex-cutter. Anything else?"

"IQ tests state that she's slightly less intelligent than Ms. Quinlan, but I know personally that she's quick to become violent and even quicker to anger. The other part of the IQ test stated that she was a bit...shall we say, mentally unstable. She apparently suffered a severe head trauma at age two. According to her file...she was struck in the back of the head...by an aluminum door. I would guess that her mom opened the door and smacked her in the back of the head, and that's why she goes nuts."

"Which would make sense. I'd be pretty senile if I got hit in the back of the head at two years old."

"Next witness...Venn Riege. Ooh, he's cute!"

She showed the picture to Cindy. He wasn't too tall or particularly good-looking, but then again, Priscilla had always been more attracted to the bad-boy type.

"Alright, tell me about him."

"Venn Riege with two 'n's, age twenty-seven, black hair, gray eyes. Height, sixty-five inches. Weight, one-hundred-sixty pounds. Slightly muscular build. Has a lip piercing and a set of earring piercings. Has a tattoo of a burning skull on his right upper arm, and a tattoo of a large tribal design of some sort on his left forearm."

"Strong guy, dark essence, tattoos. Anything else?"

"Says here that his IQ was high. Maybe even about as high as ours, at about one-fifty. But certainly not up to Jimmy's two-hundred-plus."

"Hmm..."

"Has anyone ever reached two-hundred-plus that you know of?"

"Maybe his cousin Eddie, who would be...eleven or twelve now, I think."

"Alright. Next witness...Luke Datowey. Age twenty-five, brown hair, brown eyes. Height, sixty-seven inches. Weight, one-hundred-twenty pounds. Slim build. Looks kinda starved, but that's just me...nothing really stands out about the guy."

"Were there any other witnesses," Cindy asked as she scanned the photographs into the tablet. Priscilla negated the possibility.

"There are no other recorded witnesses at this time."

"Hmm...alright. I guess we're done here, then. Detective Flatfoot, you can replace these files now."

"Right away, Ms. Vortex," he replied, folding the newspaper and tucking it into his jacket. He took all the files and stacked them together, heading back toward the cabinet in the corner. The attorneys looked at each other uneasily.

"I'm going to call Betty Quinlan and Luke Datowey tomorrow. They were actually AT the scene of the murder when it occurred. If need be, I can request either of the others tomorrow also, but I doubt we'll get that far. Oh, Detective?"

"Yes, Ms. Vortex?" he asked upon returning to the table, from which the attorneys were leaving.

"You'll be the first person I will call to the stand tomorrow, at ten o'clock sharp, so don't flake on me. You'll be giving me an account of what the autopsy and scientific result was. I need to have it known by the court scribe what exactly happened to the victim, so it's more for the court's sake than mine. Ms. Serafie...I don't really see anywhere you'd be able to interject and find a contradiction in his testimony, but if you wish to cross-examine him, you may do so at your own liberty."

"I'll have to see what he says."

"Gee, talk about me like I'm not even here," he muttered. Cindy laughed.

"Come now, Detective Flatfoot. We all have to work together for Mr. Neutron's sake. After all," she paused, striding past the now-attentive cops, "we can't have a murderer walking the streets."

They all stepped out and Cindy made sure to visibly wink at them both, letting them know that it had been a ruse only intended to keep the police at ease. Several more officers in a squad rounded the corner and saluted Priscilla, which she dismissed with an irritable wave of her hand. They exited the precinct and drove back to the hotel, where Detective Flatfoot dropped Priscilla and Cindy off to rest for the night.

"We'll all meet at the airport at about eight-ish, alright? The plane should land at nine o'clock their time, giving us an hour to get into the courthouse and be ready to settle Jimmy's fate."

"Actually..." Cindy broke in, "Jimmy may give us another ride back to the precinct at least..."

"Another ride? Hey, how did you guys get here, anyways?"

"Trade secret. If you're here at eight tomorrow morning, you'll witness the magic, and we'll be in New York City before we even left."

"How would that work?"

"Just trust me," Priscilla responded, winking. Her brother rolled his eyes.

"I'll see you at eight, sis."

He then drove off, leaving the girls to go inside and relax for the remainder of the afternoon.

_(time lapse)_

"Jimmy, are you sure everything's okay?"

"Cindy, I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me, Neutron."

"Cindy, relax! I'm trying to sleep."

He rolled over, turning away from the frowning blonde. She huffed irritatedly.

"Damn it, Neutron! What the fuck is going on?"

"Cindy, I don't appreciate it when you curse at me. And if you'll please, I'm trying to sleep."

She stood in the darkness, tapping her foot lightly on the floor. Finally, she slipped out of her blouse and pants and dropped her shoes to the floor, crawling into bed behind him. His eyes shot open as he felt her silky-smooth skin press against his back.

"Cindy...?"

"Go back to sleep, Jimmy," she cooed. "I'll be here when you wake up."

He blinked several times in the darkness. "Cindy...?"

"What is it, Jimmy?"

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"Laying in bed with me."

"Oh, that...no reason."

He furrowed his brows and rolled to face her. He gulped and had to blink several more times in order to keep his mind focused, even as the motivation was draining away through a mental sieve.

"Cindy...please...don't."

"Don't what?"

He struggled with his mind to maintain control of his actions. "Please...don't do this."

"Do what?"

"Lay next to me seductively," he spat, helplessness in his eyes. She grinned.

"And why not?"

"Because the only thing that's wrong with me is that I'm nervous."

"Nervous about what?"

"What if you two can't get an acquittal?"

"Can't get an acquittal? What folly is this?"

"Cindy, stop. Think about it. There is the very real possibility that I could go to prison by the time this trial officially ends on Thursday."

"And you need to have a bit more confidence in us attorneys. We know our shit, Jimmy. I may only be a sophomore at Harvard law, but I am fairly certain I can find out who the real killer is and make the truth known to the court, that James Isaac Neutron was wrongly accused of murder in the first degree."

He sighed heavily, his body visibly sinking into the mattress in worry and fatigue. "I just can't help but think about the possibilities of what could happen."

"Don't think about what could happen, think about what is guaranteed to happen: we will get you an acquittal and find out who the real killer was."

"If you say so. Now, do me a favor."

"Sure."

"Kindly explain to me why you're still cuddled up against me."

She faltered only for a second. "Because you're nice and warm, that's why." She didn't sound very convinced of her response.

"Cindy...it's not right."

She slipped from the bed, gathering her shed clothing. "Sorry...I let my...I don't know what I was thinking," she mumbled. Jimmy could only imagine that her face was the color of a ripe tomato in the semi-dark.

She slipped into her room as he rolled over and attempted to ease his boiling mind and rattling nerves. It wasn't like her to be so reliant, so dependent, so entranced by the man she'd hated for so long, the man she'd just met again for the first time. He was different from what she remembered: less pushy, less headstrong, less interested in the world around him. He seemed almost disconnected from everything around him. He wasn't the young boy genius he used to be. He was a troubled adult now, with an IQ that could reshape humanity.

_Maybe that's why I-_

"Nonsense," she said aloud. She tossed her clothes into a nylon bag that she'd brought specifically for housing dirty laundry that needed to be cleaned. Her shoes landed perfectly near the front door and she huffed.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid..."

"What exactly could be so stupid for you to be angry about it?"

She spun on her heel and realized that Priscilla had been in her room the entire time. She, too, was only wearing lingerie, though she was sitting on the edge of the extra bed in the room, looking relaxed and peaceful. Her red hair was damp and hung gently around her face, framing it very delicately.

"Why...why aren't you dressed?"

"We're staying in tonight. I thought maybe we could have a girls' movie night or something."

"Oh. Sure."

Cindy looked very troubled. Priscilla stood and crept over to her.

"You alright?"

"I'm fine, Prissy."

The red-head mounted her hands on her hips and shifted all her weight to her right leg, giving Cindy a look that said "I'm not buying it". The blonde sighed in response.

"I'm...I'm just so stupid...stupid and blind, but mostly stupid..."

"Mind explaining?"

"I...I can't."

Cindy felt her head tilt up to look directly into Priscilla's eyes. They glimmered and sparkled in the light. "Cindy, I know something's up. Tell me."

"I can't," she whispered. The red-head lifted her hand up and placed a gentle, reassuring kiss on the back of it.

"Please?"

The intimacy of the touch, and of the conversation, only served to make the gentle plead in Priscilla's eyes look like a hungry desire for knowledge, a lust for information, a craving to help. Cindy felt her resolve cave in beneath her.

"Alright...I'll tell you."

Priscilla looked like Christmas had come early as she flounced to the bed and bounced eagerly on her backside, legs crossed, like a small girl in a candy store. Cindy joined her with much less enthusiasm.

"Alright, spill. What's eating you?"

"Jimmy."

"What, the trial?"

"No...just him."

"What did he say?"

"Nothing."

"What did he do?"

"Nothing."

"Well, then, what is up with you?"

"Jimmy."

"What _about_ Jimmy?"

"Everything."

"Expound."

Cindy sighed. "He...he's intoxicating."

"A druggie?"

"Not intoxicatED, intoxicatING."

"What's the difference?"

"I can't get enough of him."

Priscilla giggled. "Cindy's in looooove," she teased. She looked much like a young schoolgirl when she clasped her hands together and a dreamy look stole over her eyes.

"Am not."

"Are too!"

"Am NOT!"

"Are too are too are too!"

"I...I am not..."

"You totally are, girl. You should've seen how red you were when you came through the door earlier. Though, it doesn't even compare to how red you are now."

This only served to heat Cindy's face further. She growled in frustration. "I...don't know what to do..."

"Easy. Tell him."

"How? 'Hey, Jimmy? You wonder why I hang on you? Why I was teasing you when I was drunk? Yeah, well, it's because I'm like, madly in love with you.' Oh yeah, that'll go over really well."

"You teased him while you were drunk?"

"The night we got back in town. I didn't really have a handle on myself, but...I knew that I wanted something...rather...someone."

Priscilla gasped. "Naughty, naughty," she teased. Cindy was now as red as blood, she was so terribly embarrassed.

"So, why haven't you had sex with him, then? Why haven't you told him?"

"I did...four years ago. I had sex with him three years ago."

"What? You told me you were a virgin and were looking for Mr. Right!"

"I lied. I had to. I'm not a slut, and I didn't want you to think of me as such. I didn't want to make you jealous because you still ARE a virgin."

"Cindy, are you really so thick? I might still be a virgin, but that doesn't mean that it makes you a slut. You've had your heart set on this guy! That's more romantic than a romance novel!"

"It turns out, it's not so romantic. You've no idea how much it hurts to hear about him laughing with Celeste and having fun being her friend. It's like...it's like he forgot about me."

"How could he? I've seen the way he looks at you, Cindy! He's like a little lost puppy dog! Even just looking at the crime-scene earlier, he had it all figured out and everything, but he wasn't talking to me, he was talking to _you_. Everything that he's done so far for this case, everything I've seen has been for _you_. And I know that you're just as crazy about him as he is about you! I can FEEL it! If there were any more sexual tension between you two, I'd be horny all the time!"

Cindy once again felt her face flush a very deep red. For Priscilla to talk to openly about being aroused, something that was considered more or less taboo in her house when she was growing up, made her feel a bit anxious. It wasn't something her family had openly discussed.

"Hell, I'm surprised you two HAVEN'T noticed each other. It's so terribly obvious to me that you both are interested in each other after all this time."

"I can't be, Priscilla. I just can't."

"But you are, and I can tell, because it isn't cold in here."

Cindy blinked, then glanced down at her chest. Priscilla giggled at her as she tried to cover her breasts with her crossed arms, her face glowing with humiliation. Her lip wobbled, her eyes twitched, her nose itched.

Without warning, she burst into tears. Priscilla gasped in surprise. This girl, who she'd always seen as being a very strong, very composed woman, this figure of leadership that she'd always believed was invincible, was now sobbing before her, waterfalls of hot, angry tears gushing down her face, leaving huge tear stains on her delicate skin. Her arms had uncrossed and had dropped to her lap, where they laid limply, numbly soaking up tears. Her whole body looked totally defeated, her mind in turmoil, her shoulders slumped, as if lying naked and exposed on a hard steel floor. She had finally been discovered behind all the safeguards she'd erected.

Priscilla pulled the blonde's head into her chest and laid back, letting the tears and sobs collect and collide with her ivory skin and become absorbed by the lace and cotton she wore. She gently shushed the weeping girl, but to no avail; Cindy merely cried harder, her emotions flooding her body in a tumultuous overload of feeling.

"Cindy, it's okay to have feelings."

"B-but I looooooove him!" she cried loudly, more tears splashing against her friend's chest. Priscilla gently ran her fingers through Cindy's hair, letting her nails drag comfortingly across her scalp. The tears slowed, but were neglect to cease.

"You're allowed to love him, Cindy. He loves you too, remember?"

"He c-can't! There's n-nothing here to l-love!" she hiccuped, more tears streaking her face.

"Hey, now, don't be so hard on yourself. There's plenty to love, Cindy. You're mature, sophisticated, chesty, absolutely gorgeous, and you don't take no for an answer. Girl, you've got it made! He might be called a genius by an IQ test, but he's an idiot for not making a move."

"B-but he won't," she sniffed quietly, finally stifling her tears. "He w-won't love me. He d-did that once, a-and I had a m-m-misc-carriage..."

Priscilla nearly fainted. "You two had a _child _together?"

"M-midway through May, th-three years ago...w-we made love f-for the f-first time...I-I lost the b-baby after he l-left...a-and I w-wanted t-to tell him ab-bout the baby, but...h-he b-broke up with m-me."

"But...I...Cindy...holy shit," she breathed. She finally felt like she understood the reason for her friend's pain.

"He ended it?"

"Well...I think so...b-but I'm not entirely sure..."

"How could you not be sure about a breakup?"

"Well...he says that I b-broke up with him over the phone...b-but I remember it the other way around..."

"Hmm...Maybe...well...maybe he's wrong?"

"He couldn't be. He wouldn't lie about something like that. But I know what I heard. I just...I don't know. All I know for sure is that he was gone the day after graduation to come here, to England."

Priscilla furrowed her brow, thinking about what she'd heard and what she knew. "That's very fishy. But...let's not dwell on it now, Cindy. Let's get you tucked into bed and we'll order a pizza and some champagne and watch some chick flicks. How does that sound?"

"Does room service offer some nice, hot, creamy fudge?"

"It most certainly does."

Cindy giggled, lifting herself up, the strength finally returning to her arms and legs. "That sounds like a great idea, Priscilla. Which movie should we watch first?"

* * *

**_I kinda struggled with writing this chapter, mostly because I'm trying to get to the actual trial and stuff, but I know two things for a fact for you guys. 1: the trial will begin in the next chapter FOR CERTAIN; I'm not putting it off any longer, and I think I know what I want to say. 2: I will continue writing this story after the verdict is decided. There is so much that I have to say, so many questions I have to answer, so much that will need to be wrapped up and tied together with a really big ribbon. Believe me, the trial may end by Chapter 25ish, but the story itself will progress to at least the 30s. :)_**


	10. Rewriting Past and Glimpsing Future

**_A/N: At 7,818 words, this is my longest chapter yet. Most of my chapters are 4,500 words, but this one is kinda...long. There's a lot going on, and the case goes kinda quick, I guess, but the next chapter should be...more juicy, I guess._**

**_DiceRox09: Now that you've seen my deviantArt and my AIM, there's probably no need for this, but I'll do it anyways. I realize that Cindy being seductive probably wasn't in her character, but this story is rated 'M' for a good reason. Also...her breakdown last chapter was kinda in response to having to quietly pretend that everything was okay. Priscilla being in lingerie was intended to be a bit suggestive, but also homely, as she's pretty much naked and she's comfortable as can be around her friend. THAT'S friendship. As for Cindy and Jimmy...wait until you read THIS. It's not over yet. :)_**

**_Anyways, to the rest of my readers, the far and the few, feel free to enjoy. :)_**

* * *

"Alright, everyone...grab hold of some part of my body."

The company had gathered in Jimmy's room and had stowed their luggage into his hypercube for the trip. Detective Flatfoot looked uneasy.

"Are you sure this is legal?"

"Of course it's legal. I'm using my own satellites to translate us."

"What I mean is, has the government cleared it?"

"No. There's no way they would clear permission for use of such a thing."

The detective grumbled, but clasped hold of Jimmy's outstretched hand and forearm. Priscilla had already grasped hold of the other one, leaving Cindy with nothing.

"Oh...right...only have two limbs."

She blinked at him, face devoid of expression. He just barely heard the whisper-quiet sound of Priscilla giggling to his right, but was forced to ignore the noise as Cindy embraced him tightly. He was mildly taken aback, but his mind had automatically located and connected to the satellites. He grunted involuntarily as his body dematerialized and warped into a laserbeam that projected him straight to the GPS coordinates of the New York City courthouse where the trial was to take place, approximately fifteen minutes before the trial was to begin. The detective wrenched out of Jimmy's grasp and stared at him demonically.

"What the hell _are_ you?"

"Just a boy with a big brain."

Priscilla laughed. "There is no harm in having him aid us in transport. Besides, the witnesses have already been flown in on a plane and should be waiting for Ms. Vortex in the prosecutor's lobby."

It was at that moment when she finally let go of Jimmy and turned, looking very sullen and unsure of herself.

"Cindy, are you sure you can do this?"

"I'm fine," she mumbled hoarsely. Jimmy was speechless. So was Detective Flatfoot.

"Hang in there, Ms. Vortex. I have faith in you, that you will find out the truth behind this case and aid me in bringing acquittal and justice to Mr. Neutron."

The blonde sniffed. "I'll try."

"That's all I ask," Priscilla replied. She then gestured for Jimmy to enter a door to their right, where a large room with plants and cushy chairs awaited. It was guarded by two bailiffs that seemed to have a grid-iron composure. Jimmy looked over his shoulder at a very miserable Cindy and ducked out of Priscilla's grasp and into Cindy's. He squeezed her tightly to his body, and she buried her head into his chest, feeling very vulnerable and exposed. He stroked her hair, aware that Priscilla's glare was on his back and the Detective's was on his left.

"Everything will be okay," Jimmy whispered, voice shaking. He didn't sound so sure of himself anymore. Cindy sighed.

"I just hope you can handle it, Jimmy."

She gently slipped from his grasp and beckoned the detective to follow her into the prosecutor's lobby. The heavy oak door closed behind the men as they entered their respective rooms.

"Affection for the opposition will make this no easier for you to deal with, Mr. Neutron."

"I know...I just wish there was some way to say this had never happened."

He drew a very shaky breath. "What...what would you like me to say in my testimony?"

"The truth. I'll cross-examine you to see if I can find any contradictions, but other than that there should be no problems. You'll testify after Detective Flatfoot as to where you were and what you did. Keep it short and sweet; the cross-examination is intended to reveal more information than you hand out."

"Very well."

The bailiff at the end of the room cleared his throat. Both parties looked to the noise.

"Court will convene in five minutes. Please enter the courtroom and make sure you are ready to begin on the judge's request."

"Thank you, Bailiff," Priscilla responded. He opened the door for her respectfully.

"Good luck, Ms. Serafie."

"May the same be for you, Bailiff."

She entered the courtroom, head held high. Jimmy followed her lead and observed the surroundings in mute fascination.

It was as though they were in a concert hall. On their side of the room, the east side, was a counter-like surface made of solid, highly-polished oak that sparkled in the sunlight. Across the room, on the west side, a similar counter existed. In the southern end of the center of the room stood a podium, the witness's stand. Directly ahead of the stand stood a large desk with a high-backed oak chair, where the judge sat gazing at the morning newspaper and drinking from a coffee mug. His gavel rested gently near the holster it was intended to contact when order needed to be restored.

Surrounding the entire courtroom was arena-like seating that looked as though it could fit a large number of people if needed. However, less than half of the seats were occupied, and those that were all happened to be eager enthusiasts, former classmates of Jimmy's, or just curious members of the public. There were three who caught his eye, however, and they all sat immediately overtop the door behind the witness stand, able to see the entire courtroom and watch all the proceedings with eagle eyes. Never in his life did Jimmy expect such attention, but even as he gazed in disbelief at Carl, Sheen, and Libby all perched in their seats behind the witness stand, he felt comforted. As long as the five of them from school, the five best friends, were all together in one place, no matter what the adventure, everything would be alright in the end.

He immediately felt the atmosphere change as he watched Cindy enter, business-like and stony-faced, as she took her spot behind her counter. Jimmy watched the Detective enter and stand near the door, waiting patiently. Both sets of doors closed simultaneously, and Jimmy moved behind the defense's counter and sat at a chair. He noted that several of the members of the audience were glaring at him in anger. He knew immediately that the odds were stacked against him.

"A-HEM!"

Three sharp taps from the gavel silenced the courtroom. The judge had stowed his newspaper and was gazing passively over the floor.

"Court will now convene for the trial of Mr. James Isaac Neutron. We will hereby decide whether or not the defendant is guilty or innocent, through use of evidence and witness testimony. Are the opposing parties ready?"

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honor," Cindy replied formally.

"The defense is ready, Your Honor," Priscilla replied less stiffly.

"Will the prosecution call its first witness?"

"Actually, the prosecution would like to request that Detective Flatfoot be called to the stand first to testify about the purported death of the victim."

"What is the purpose behind this," the judge asked, surprised.

"The prosecution wishes to make the victim's death very clear for the court record, should further suspicion arise. This is for the sake of the court, not the prosecution."

"Does the defense have any objection to this request?"

"The defense has no objection, Your Honor."

"Very well. Will Detective Flatfoot please take the stand?"

He strode very purposefully up to the stand, head high, back straight.

"Please state your name and occupation for the record."

"My name is Prosper I. Flatfoot. I am the head detective at the New York City Precinct."

"Alright, Mr. Flatfoot. Please give your account of the victim's purported death."

"As you wish, Your Honor.

"According to our scientific analysis, the victim was shot in the back at an angle of one-hundred-and-forty degrees from her left-hand-side. The bullet entered her body through her second rib, fracturing it. It then punctured her heart and exited between the second and third ribs on the front of the body. Death is suspected to have been shortly after the shot impacted her body, an estimated five minutes past the bullet's transition through her body. The official cause of death is heart stoppage due to puncture wounds."

Jimmy noticed that Priscilla was rifling through Cindy's notes while glancing at a glowing glass panel that apparently covered a screen of some sort.

"So, she died due to bullet impact?" the judge asked, as if unsure.

"Well, she died as a result. Technically, she died due to oxygen deprivation in the brain, but that resulted from the actual stoppage of her heart."

"I see." He cleared his throat. "The defense may now cross-examine the witness."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Priscilla took three short seconds to gaze at the screen and the papers again.

"Might I get a little more information about the bullet size?"

"The bullet was recovered and has been identified as a fifty-caliber bullet round. Fifty-caliber bullets are usually only utilized by military long-range sniper-rifles or serious killers."

The crowd shifted uneasily. More haughty glares focused on Jimmy. He laid his head down on the counter and closed his eyes, struggling not to begin shaking in fear. He envisioned a dark hellhole with bars and inmates that would taunt and torment him for the rest of his life. It did not look good.

"Detective, may I ask you a question?"

"Certainly."

"You say it was a fifty-caliber bullet, and that it only fractured the second rib. However...a bullet of that size would most likely shatter the surrounding area, don't you think?"

"OBJECTION!" Cindy cried. "The defense's line of questioning is irrelevant to the current issue."

"OBJECTION!" Priscilla returned. "The size of the bullet changes the impact size and depth, Your Honor. It is entirely relevant to this issue, as it affects the total, exact outcome of the entire event."

"Sustained, Ms. Serafie. However, if it does not become clear to this court why you are pursuing the size of this bullet as a significant clue, you will be penalized."

"Understood, Your Honor." She returned to the Detective. "So, what do you say, Detective? Would a bullet of that size shatter the surrounding bone structure?"

"It would...under most circumstances."

"What do you mean?"

"The impact damage on the bullet has been analyzed in close connection with the autopsy report. The reason the bullet failed to shatter the second rib from behind is because it merely glanced off of it as it struck the underside. It was a nearly-level shot, and the small impact on the underside of the second rib caused it to exit between the second and third ribs. The shot then tore a large chunk of skin and fat from her body, so she had a large hole on the front-left of her chest."

"I see..."

She shuffled her papers a bit more, then looked at the screen.

"Your Honor, the defense wishes to conclude cross-examination at this time. We have no further questions for the Detective."

"Very well. Will the prosecution call its next witness?"

Detective Flatfoot left the witness stand and Cindy's eyes grew distant. She snapped to and looked to the judge.

"Your Honor, the prosecution wishes to call the defendant, Mr. James Isaac Neutron, to the stand."

"What?" the judge asked perplexedly. He looked as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

"The prosecution stands, Your Honor. It wishes to call Mr. James Isaac Neutron to the stand."

"A-alright," he stuttered. Jimmy stood and moved straight to the stand, hands clammy, face pale. The moment of truth had arrived.

"Witness, please state your name and occupation."

"My name is James Isaac Neutron. I am currently a student at Oxford University, and I aspire to be an entrepreneur; specifically, an inventor."

"Alright. Mr. Neutron, please explain to the court where you were and what you did during the murder."

"As you wish.

"On the day of the murder, the victim and I spent most of the day together, either in class or celebrating the end of the year. We ate dinner together at a very nice restaurant and walked the cliffs for a while. However, at the time of the murder, I was in my room writing a paper for my class the next day. I was not the one to kill Ms. Celeste Benson."

"Hmm...will the defense proceed with the cross-examination?"

"Yes, Your Honor," Priscilla responded. Again, she took a moment to collect herself as she read over the notes and court record.

"Mr. Neutron, what do you mean by 'celebrating' in your first statement?"

"Let me see...after the class that we shared together, the victim and I went to the park to pass some time and enjoy the atmosphere. It's actually very nice at the park during the summer, if you can believe it."

"I'll believe it. Did you notice anything amiss at the park when you were there?"

"I can't say that I did, Ms. Serafie. I'm sorry."

"There's no harm done, Mr. Neutron."

"Except for the fact that I may have missed small details that could have prevented her death."

"While that may be true, if you didn't see it, there's no testimony to be had. Next issue...this receipt is of the dinner you shared with the victim?"

Priscilla had held up a piece of paper with a copy of the receipt scanned onto it. Jimmy nodded.

"Yes it is."

"This receipt proves that the defendant was, in fact, at the restaurant as he said. However, the events following on the cliffs are undocumented. Can you give more details?"

"What's to tell? We walked and talked and laughed and shared memories."

"Walked and talked? Talked about what?"

"OBJECTION! That is irrelevant to this case."

"How can you be certain, Ms. Vortex?"

"Because the defendant and I have already discussed this issue."

Jimmy looked defeated as he stood at the podium. Cindy had never seen him so depressed.

"I...don't want to talk about it, really...I said that we laughed and reminisced, but...it was more emotionally straining than that..."

Priscilla thought about it for a moment. "What does the prosecution think?"

"After having heard the account from Mr. Neutron himself, I believe that this conversation has no relevance to the case. However...if it should prove to be relevant later in this case, I will have no objection to stating the story as it was told to me."

"Alright. I'll now conclude the cross-examination of Mr. Neutron," Priscilla stated. The judge banged his gavel.

"Will the prosecution call its next witness?"

"While it may seem that the first two witnesses only stood for a short time and only confirmed what the opposing parties already know, this next witness should be able to bring some more light to the table. I will now request that Luke Datowey take the stand."

The prosecution's doors opened and a lanky, brown-haired man entered the room. He was clothed in a white t-shirt with black jeans covering red tennis shoes. He stood at the stand, nervously scratching his arm.

"Will the witness please state his name and occupation for the court record?"

"M-my name is Luke Datowey, a-and I'm going to be a junior this year at Oxford on the four-year program."

"Alright, Mr. Datowey. Please testify to the court what you witnessed."

"Y-yes, sir.

"I happened to be in the park at about eleven o'clock on the night of the murder. It was a little cold outside, but I naturally happen to have warm blood, so I wasn't bothered. As I wandered around, I saw the victim laying on the grass, looking at the stars through a shiny black telescope. I tried making small-talk, but I'm not good at that. Then, this other woman I'd never met before came up and started talking to me, but the victim joined into that conversation too. She stood up, and not ten seconds later, a shot rang out, and she fell dead to the ground. I rushed to the nearby phone and dialed for the police while the woman tried to resuscitate the victim, but it was too late."

He hung his head. Cindy scratched the back of hers.

"Alright," the judge said. "The defense may now begin its cross-examination."

"Thank you, Your Honor." Priscilla turned to the witness. He looked nervous. Jimmy could do nothing but rest his head limply in his hands, watching as the poor guy quivered worriedly.

"Mr. Datowey. I have two questions for you. First, what was the witness's name?"

"Her name...I think she called herself Betty."

"And second...could you repeat part of your testimony? The part about the sound?"

"She stood up, and not ten seconds later, a shot rang out, and she fell dead to the ground."

Priscilla paused for a moment, then uttered a single word very clearly, but not loudly: "Objection."

"What could possibly be wrong with that statement?" the judge asked in disbelief.

"The simple fact that there were _two _shots fired that evening. One of them pierced through the victim's textbook and has not been found, despite a very vigilant search of the crime scene. The other did indeed strike Ms. Benson, but this does not deny the fact that _two_ shots were fired."

Muttering broke out in the crowd. The gavel sounded.

"Order. Ms. Serafie, what are you getting at?"

"I am by no means calling this man a liar. I am more inclined to believe that he may have misheard in the panic of the moment. However, as the textbook proves," she paused, holding up the piece of paper with the punctured textbook's image inked into its surface, "there were two shots fired."

"Objection," Cindy interjected. "Could it not simply have been one shot?"

"Objection," Priscilla called over her. "There is no possible way that there could have only been one 'magic bullet' that could have caused such a penetration. The angle that the bullet was fired at does not match, as well as the key fact that _there is no blood on this textbook_."

Cindy had a mixture of anger and pride on her face. Priscilla looked a bit smug. Jimmy still felt that the worst was yet to come.

"Hmm. So, there were two shots fired, one into the book, the other into the victim. The witness claims not to have heard the second one."

"I-I never said I never heard a second shot!" Luke cried desperately.

"Well, why didn't you include it in your testimony?"

"It's l-like you said, Ms. Serafie...I got caught up in the heat of the moment."

"Witness, please testify to the court about this other shot."

"Y-yes...

"W-well, when we were conversing, the victim was holding her textbook with a slightly outstretched arm. The first shot came, a-and it seemed like she turned away from it. Then the second shot rang out, and she fell down dead."

"Hmm...she turned away from the shot?"

"Analysis has shown that the shot which impacted the textbook did indeed cause the victim to turn in accordance with the shot's trajectory, meaning it would appear that she turned away from the bullet," Cindy stated, the tablet just barely visible over the top of the counter. Jimmy knew she had reread his analysis just to be safe.

"Alright. Is a cross-examination necessary?"

"Yes, Your Honor, if you don't mind."

Priscilla winked. The judge seemed a bit startled. "V-very well, Ms. Serafie. Feel free to cross-examine the witness."

She looked at the testimony once more. "So, why was her textbook out in the open, do you suppose?"

"Objection. This is irrelevant to the case; the only thing that matters is that it was shot at."

"Objection! It is relevant to the current testimony because it most likely connects to another piece of evidence."

"Most likely?" Skepticism seemed carved on the judge's face.

"If I find something strange or that connects to another piece of evidence, I will be sure to inform the court to my musings. If it turns out to be nothing, then I will let it go."

"Understood. Witness, answer the question: Why was the victim's textbook out in the open?"

Luke twitched. "I...I think she was saying something to the other witness, Betty. She lifted her arm to make a point."

"Tell me, Mr. Datowey. Was there anything noticeable about the textbook?"

"W-well...it seemed to be a very large and heavy textbook...but other than that, I don't think there was anything wrong..."

"Not something wrong, something noticeable."

"Well, no, I don't think so."

Priscilla paused. Then...

"Objection."

Luke looked stricken. "There _was _something wrong?"

"Not something wrong, just something noticeable." She held up the envelope itself, a single bullet hole stabbing through the lower half of the document inside. Luke gasped.

"That...I saw that!"

"Why didn't you mention it?"

"It looked like it was just a folded piece of paper!"

"Well, it was more than that. It was a motive for the victim to be at the park that evening." She cleared her throat and read loudly from her notes, laying the envelope visibly on the counter.

"_To Ms. Celeste Benson. I just thought I'd let you know that your brother got out of prison a week ago, and that I agree with his sentiments. He was truly a genius, a real man who overpowered those who could be overpowered. He lived for his own personal gain, and I agree with everything he did to the fullest. It also lightens my heart to say that I took no greater personal pleasure in triumphing over you at everything you tried to do. I laugh every night at remembering how hurt your expression looked that day, how angry or sad or frustrated you were that day. I suppose it was to be expected, though; I am, after all, a genius by nature and trade. You can't outsmart me. But, nonetheless, if you're willing to try, I'll be waiting for you in the park tonight. If you have the gall to try and stand over me, then please, I beg you to try. Eleven-fifteen tonight by American time, twenty-three-fifteen here. In the park. Near middle of the sidewalk, by the pay phone and the overhead lamp. I'll be waiting to mock you once again, Ms. Benson. James Neutron, Your Superior._"

The courtroom was silent. Finally, the judge cleared his throat. "Well, this seems to be conclusive evidence that Mr. Neutron has indeed committed this crime."

He then noticed that Priscilla was gazing at him in pregnant silence. He closed his mouth and waited.

"It is not conclusive evidence."

"How could it not be?"

"Because it isn't his handwriting."

"How in the blazes do you know that?"

"We've already asked Mr. Neutron to compare this handwriting with his own. It does not match his."

"He could have been using a false script to deter suspicion!"

"Your Honor, if he wanted to do that, why on earth would he have signed it?"

The judge looked dumbfounded. "Er...well..."

"The simple truth is that the person who wrote this letter was _not_ James Isaac Neutron. This person never knew my client because this person's handwriting is completely different from that of my client's. This means that my client did not summon the victim to the park that evening. Furthermore, since he did not summon her, he could not have killed her."

"How can this be possible?"

"The letter says that he spoke highly of her brother. Her brother was arrested at the age of eighteen for the molestation of the victim. Mr. Neutron is not the kind of person to embrace rape or violence. Both I, the defense attorney, and Ms. Vortex, the prosecution, can attest to this fact."

Murmuring popped in and out of the crowd. Cindy looked impassive; Priscilla looked determined. The judge was just as confused as the audience.

"So...this man to my left..."

"Was not the killer of Ms. Celeste Benson."

"Well, it certainly seems that the evidence points that way...Does the prosecution have any comment?"

"None, Your Honor. I merely wish to call my next witness, if we are finished questioning Mr. Datowey."

"Does the defense have any objection?"

"None, Your Honor."

"Call your witness, Ms. Vortex."

"The prosecution will first request a ten-minute recess to reassess the situation and proceedings."

Everyone looked astounded. "A recess? But it's not even eleven o'clock yet."

"But I wish to have a moment to gather my thoughts, just as I'm sure the defense would like as well."

"Well...if no objections are present, then this court will take a ten-minute recess." The judge banged his gavel and leaned back in his chair, pulling the newspaper out from underneath it. Cindy departed into the prosecution's lobby, Luke on her heels looking sullen and apologetic. Priscilla led Jimmy gently by the hand into the defense lobby.

"Well, I managed to sway the judge's opinion so far," she sighed, flopping onto a large cushy couch as the doors closed behind them. Jimmy sat across from her, a coffee-table containing a dish of butterscotch candies seated between them. He looked pale and unsteady.

"Cheer up, Mr. Neutron," she quipped. "You're innocent as long as I say you are."

The doors on the far end of the room banged open and Cindy barged into the room. She looked slightly pleased and slightly annoyed.

"Luke just had a nervous breakdown because you made him out to be a liar."

"As I explained to the court, I was not implying that he was a liar, merely that he had misheard or confused facts with one another in the confusion of the moment. Besides, he's not the one accused of murder."

"Everyone knows that, but he seems to think otherwise. I've never seen you treat a witness so harshly. You don't need to be condescending."

"It gets them to answer and fess up. Besides, I've pretty much proven my client innocent."

"Not if the next witness has anything to say about it. Need I remind you that Ms. Quinlan is the next person to testify? I called a break to warn you before she rips you apart."

"Rips me apart?"

"She'll tear you limb from limb and feed you to the flies, Ms. Serafie. Don't get cocky around her; she'll make you regret it."

"I won't get cocky if she won't."

Cindy grumbled an unintelligible response and left the room, slamming the heavy double-doors behind her. Jimmy gulped.

"Betty Quinlan is testifying?"

"Doesn't make my job any easier, but yes, she is."

Jimmy was silent. The bailiff opened the doors and they returned to their spots on the defense's side of the courtroom. Cindy entered a short moment later, looking flustered.

"Alright. I believe that was less than ten minutes, but since everyone appears to be ready, I will reconvene the court."

The judge still looked as though he had no clue what was going on, but banged his gavel importantly anyways. "Now, Ms. Vortex. You may call your next witness."

"I will now call to the stand Ms. Betty Quinlan."

Jimmy heard Libby gasp and Sheen cry out in the audience. He could almost imagine Carl's face paling at the news. However, he could not look up at them, as his eyes were drawn to the brunette beauty that entered the room from the prosecution's doors and took the stand.

"My, you are certainly very divine," the judge gawked. Cindy cleared her throat.

"Will the witness please state her name and occupation for the court record?"

Betty batted her eyes on the stand and the judge practically fell from his chair and desk onto the floor. "My name is Betty Quinlan, and I am a model for various magazine agencies."

"I bet you're constantly getting calls for photo-shoots," the judge stated with satisfaction. Jimmy caught sight of Cindy rolling her eyes.

"Actually, I've been a bit out of the modeling loop for the past couple of months," Betty replied. The silky allure of her voice was like a dose of instant-hormones for most of the males in the room. Jimmy tried not to vomit.

"Well, I'm sure something will turn up. Er...will the witness please testify to what she, er...witnessed?"

_Smooth one, judge..._ Cindy growled inwardly.

"Well, I don't want to hold out on you.

"Let me see...I had just finished a very delicious lobster dinner with a friend of mine. We had been talking business, but nothing was related to modeling. I then took a stroll through the park and saw the victim lying on the grass with a telescope. I decided that conversation would be nice, but she seemed like she'd rather stare at the sky. Then Luke came along, and he was sociable. The victim finally stood up and joined the conversation, and that's when she and the book both got shot, one after the other. Luke ran to the phone to try and call for help while I tried to resuscitate the victim, but it was too late."

"Oh, how brave you were!"

The prosecutor, defense, and accused all gagged and snorted in unison. The judge failed to notice.

"Well, will the defense cross-examine this witness?"

"We will, Your Honor."

"I'll allow you to do so, although I really see no reason for it...such a beautiful girl could never make a mistake."

_You'll be eating those words shortly, judge..._

"Right. Ms. Quinlan. About the dinner. Who exactly were you eating with?"

"An old friend."

"I know that. Who _exactly_ were you eating with?"

"Objection! That is irrelevant to the murder."

"Objection! That person may be related to the murder even if the dinner was not. The possibility cannot be overlooked."

"S-sustained," the judge mumbled, clacking the gavel weakly on its pedestal.

"Well, his name is Riege. No first name was ever given; I always knew him as Riege and he always knew me as Quinlan. That's the way we kept it; we may have been friends, but first names seem terribly overrated to me. He's probably a couple of years older than I am, at least."

"Nice man?"

"Very. Gorgeous to look at, too."

"Looks aren't all that matter. I'm assuming your dinner partner's name was Venn?"

"That sounds familiar..."

"Venn Riege is another witness to this case," Cindy interjected. "I believed that he would only need to be called in as a last-resort to this case."

"He was there? Fancy that...small world."

"Let me ask you, Ms. Quinlan, about something unrelated to Mr. Riege. You tried to resuscitate the victim. Do you care to explain a bit more?"

"Oh, that. I tried pushing on her chest and giving her mouth-to-mouth just like in the movies."

"Ms. Quinlan. Have you ever attempted to utilize cardiopulmonary resuscitation?"

"Car-what?"

"Cardiopulmonary resuscitation, otherwise known as CPR, is a vital, potentially life-saving technique usually only learned and mastered by nurses, doctors, or other healing personnel. Ms. Quinlan, tell me something. Do you know how to utilize CPR?"

"Of course."

"Then tell me this, Ms. Quinlan: how many compressions are recommended per breath given to the victim?"

"Eight," she replied confidently. Priscilla paused, then laughed loudly.

"What is so funny, Ms. Serafie?"

"Forgive me, your honor. This woman is terribly confused. There are to be fifteen compressions administered to the victim, followed by three breaths into the victim's lungs, after which the resuscitator should listen for the victim's breathing. If none exists after two seconds, the cycle begins again. Obviously, television programs insist on cutting such acts to the short and quick, and that is why most victims undergoing CPR die on television: the character has no experience with how to breathe life into the victim."

"What are you getting at?"

"Ms. Quinlan claims that eight compressions are needed before breath. The correct answer is fifteen. I know this and I am not a doctor, nor a nurse, nor any kind of medically-trained individual. Therefore, Ms. Quinlan does not know CPR."

"Objection! This is irrelevant bantering and badgering of the witness!"

"Objection! There is a point to this line of questioning, I assure you."

"Overruled. I cannot allow you to badger such a nice, kind witness."

Priscilla growled. "Let me ask you something, Your Honor. How likely is it that Ms. Quinlan happened to be eating dinner with Mr. Riege on the very night that a murder occurred _which they both witnessed_?"

The judge paused. "It is an astronomical coincidence, I assure you, but it is possible. Besides, there was no point behind your line of questioning. My ruling stands."

She cursed under her breath. "Alright...Ms. Quinlan. Might I request that you testify more about the actual murder? About what you saw?"

Betty thought it over. "I don't see why not."

"Very well. Witness, please testify as to what happened to the victim."

"Let me think...I was talking with Luke on the sidewalk near the victim while she stared at the sky. After a moment, she joined the conversation. I asked her why her telescope was so big, and then she held out her arms to show me the size of a larger one. That's when the book got shot at. She turned, tripped, and then was shot as she fell. Luke ran for the phone while I gave her CPR."

"Oh, my," the judge blurted.

"I'll begin cross-examination," Priscilla called. The judge snapped out of his daydream and nodded.

"However, Ms. Serafie, there will be no badgering or questioning of the witness. You are only allowed to present evidence that may contradict her statements. If you fail to do so, your client will receive an immediate guilty sentence. Understand?"

"Understood, Your Honor." She paused a moment, rereading the testimony as it had been recorded onto the screen.

"OBJECTION!" she cried. The judge jumped in fright.

"What is the meaning of such a loud cacophony?"

"Your Honor, please pay attention. Now, Ms Quinlan...You say that the victim spun, tripped, and was shot as she fell?"

"Yes..."

"The autopsy report does not state this. The math doesn't add up, either. Unfortunately for you, that statement was a lie."

"How...?"

"The bullet was completely horizontal to the ground until it impacted the lower part of the back of her second rib on her left-hand-side. If she were falling when the body hit her, then it would have hit her at an angle, and the bone would have shattered. No, the victim was still standing when she was shot. Furthermore, the impact mark made in the ground by the bullet does not mathematically align with your suggested flightpath. And on top of that, had the victim fallen, you would have had to roll her over to perform CPR. But _there were no marks of blood on the ground to indicate this._"

Betty was shaking in rage. The judge looked surprised. "Well, the defense has a point. Witness, explain."

"She...was shot standing up. The weight of the book had twisted her upper body into the second bullet's flightpath, Your Honor."

"Why did you lie?"

"Because it does not change the fact that the victim was killed by the shot."

"OBJECTION!" Once again, the judge jumped.

"Had the bullet struck the victim at your suggested angle, it would have missed her heart and instead damaged her aorta. However, there was no damage to the aorta, only to the heart and surrounding tissues."

"OBJECTION! What does this have to do with the case?"

"It defines how the victim was shot, and what the witness observed."

"But whether or not the bullet struck her body one way or the other doesn't matter!"

"It matters because from that point on the _testimony is a lie_!"

"Me? Lying?"

"Yes. I have established that you did not see the moment that the victim was shot, and I established before that you do not know CPR."

"If I didn't see the moment that the victim was shot, Ms. Serafie, then what was it that I was looking at?"

"Simple. The murderer."

She gasped, as did most everyone in the courtroom. A large outcry of opinions and insults washed through the crowd. The judge beat his gavel with so much force Jimmy worried that the head might break under strain.

ORDER! OOOORDEEEEEER!"

Finally, the courtroom quieted. The judge sighed.

"That is a very serious accusation you have, Ms Serafie. Where is your evidence?"

"This," she said, producing the letter for the second time.

"This is the letter to the victim from the killer, right? The one that 'wasn't' written by Mr. Neutron?"

"Correct. At the moment of the first shot, the victim had her arm outstretched and was grasping the textbook with it. The bullet hole punctured the book and the letter, destroying a small portion of the text. Betty noticed the envelope, and looked to the murderer where he laid in wait across the park, and gave him a signal about the book. He then proceeded to shoot it for one simple reason: to destroy evidence against him."

"Evidence against him?"

"Should the handwriting on the letter ever manage to get traced or checked, the killer would have a hard time explaining the condemnation of an innocent man to angry policemen. Therefore, he needed to destroy that which he created, and so he shot at the envelope. Then, he had to shoot the victim, to deter suspicion and to fulfill his mission of killing this poor woman."

"Hmm...that does sound plausible..."

"Following that, when Ms. Quinlan claims to have been performing CPR, she was not. There is no way she could be. Even a four-year-old child with no concept of death would have understood that the victim was helpless and could not be saved by something as trivial as CPR, which is used on bodies that are already pronounced dead or have stopped breathing due to asphyxiation or drowning. This body would not have needed CPR, as it _is not used to reconstruct a destroyed heart_."

"Then what is it that Ms. Quinlan was doing?"

"Cleaning up evidence."

"Do you have any proof?"

"The missing bullet."

Cindy held up a photograph of the bullet hole that had punctured the concrete without a tell-tale bullet left behind. "This is an actual photo of the crime-scene's missing bullet. Here you can see the hole that it left behind and that it disappeared from its impact point."

"There's no other way that this bullet could have gone missing, since police records indicate that Mr. Datowey did, in fact, use the phone in the park to call the police when the murder occurred. Both he and Ms. Quinlan testified that she tried resuscitating the victim, but there was no purpose for resuscitation of a lost cause."

The judge tugged at his beard. "I'm loathe to believe that this beauty before me did anything wrong, but Ms. Serafie does have a point. Ms. Quinlan, did you remove the bullet from the scene?"

She stood, hair hanging over her face. There was a long silence. Finally, "So...this is what it's come to."

She whipped her hair back, eyes glimmering in anger and hatred as they bored into Priscilla's soft features.

"You think that because you're an attorney that you can just stand there and defile me? Call me a liar? No. You're wrong. I am not a liar. I am a protector."

"A protector of what?"

"My best interest.

"See, if there was a bullet where I was standing, and the clues aligned, I could be made out to be the murderer. And I couldn't have that. So I took the bullet and ground it up into powder. After all, I'm not a murderer. And I'm not a liar."

She locked eyes with Jimmy. He suddenly felt that he knew what was coming.

"You. You're the cause of all of this. You went and toyed with me when we were kids, mocked me openly for being less smart than you, sucked up to me and adored me until it made me sick, and then I fell for you in high school and you kicked me down! You went after that blonde-haired bimbo over there and left me to rot, Neutron! You left me to ROT!"

She was now crying angry tears, but she wasn't finished. She heaved another deep breath.

"Do you every lay awake at night and wonder what happened to you two? Do you? I dare you to guess, right here, right now, in front of everyone, Mr. Genius. Why did you two, the dream team, rivals in everything, then lovers to the end, break apart and remain so for three, long, cold, devastating years? I ask you, Neutron, the boy genius, WHY?"

All eyes focused on Jimmy. Even Priscilla knew not what to say. Cindy's face was white as a sheet and her hands were shaking violently beneath the edge of the counter.

"You. You split us apart. You caused us to hate each other, then mourn for one another."

"And I thought you would have guessed before now and made up, but it didn't occur to you that I was that smart, did it? I planned for it to happen that night, even used your voice synthesizer to break you two apart from one another. It didn't matter that the conversations were different; you were gone and she was stuck here, pregnant with your child. And YOU!"

She rounded on Cindy, who now had her hand resting gently on her stomach.

"Wasn't it in December that you lost the baby? Oh, wasn't that the worst Christmas day ever, you slut. Do you know why you lost the baby? Guess. Right here, right now."

"You...you _MONSTER!_"

She was now clutching her stomach as though she'd been stabbed. Her face was whiter than ever, hands shaking like maracas.

"You're all so willing to point fingers at me, so willing to prove me guilty, and for what? I didn't kill that girl! I didn't even know that girl. All I knew was that I hated James Isaac Neutron and everyone that he was friends with, and that included her. But there was someone who hated her more than I did. The lawyer's right: I looked at the murderer that night. And that murderer was James Isaac Neutron, and I was his accomplice!"

The whole courtroom rose into screaming and swearing, stomping their feet and jeering loudly at Betty, Cindy, and Jimmy. Cindy stood her ground, still clutching her stomach. Betty looked absolutely scary. But it was Jimmy who stood and hung his head in shame.

"What's wrong, genius? No comebacks? Nothing to say? No words to comfort me? No more flirting? What, did you lose interest in me? Or are you really just not smart enough to respond?"

He raised his head, finally pushed into anger. He locked eyes with Betty and the courtroom fell silent; the tension was so high that it could have thrown people at walls if they spoke out.

"I once cared for you a great deal, Betty Quinlan. We weren't friends, no, but I didn't mind. I believed in the best in you. I believed that you had some good left inside you, something that I couldn't see because I was so busy trying not to be mad at you for hurting me. You're the reason I hated Cindy so much, Betty Quinlan. You're the reason I was always angry with her, always feuding with her. Because I couldn't vent to anyone. Because I had an image of perfection and snobbishness to live up to. Because you kept hurting me over and over so that I no longer trusted the affections of girls. And when I outgrew it in high school and you hung on me because I was the smart guy, I had learned, Betty Quinlan. I was a good student, and I was very close with Cindy, and you couldn't stand that I wouldn't give you, the whore, the attention that I used to in grade school. You're what drove me to hating Cindy for most of my childhood, not because she was always trying to compete with me, but because everything that she said about you was _true._ And I hated her because _I knew within me that she was right, one-hundred percent. _THAT is why I stayed away from you, Betty Quinlan, and that is why I stand before you today: I will not be pushed around by the likes of you any longer."

He looked absolutely lethal as he glared lasers at Betty. She was beginning to pale and sweat, realizing the extent of her outrage. She had admitted to being the murderer's accomplice. She had finally told the truth about what had happened. But most painfully, she had been stabbed in the back by the nicest guy she had ever known. She was livid, crushed, and regretful all at once, and she didn't know which emotion to cater to first.

The judge cleared his throat, breaking the silence. "Bailiff, please incarcerate the witness. Place her in the detention center for further questioning about this case and her actions toward Ms. Vortex regarding her unborn child. This court will reconvene tomorrow morning at ten o'clock sharp. That is all."

The judge beat his gavel on its podium one final time and watched as Betty was dragged away without protest, her eyes glued to the genius breathing deeply as he stood vehemently at the defense's counter. One hand clutched tightly to the counter, the other to his chest. For within him was a new-found pain, one spawned by the demons from hell, and it felt like an icy dagger had been plunged into his bare, naked heart.

* * *

**_Ahh, so emotional...so spiritual...so weird how the events twisted. Everyone remembers Betty as the 'beautiful bimbo', but I decided to give her a little more purpose than to just play Jimmy's had-been object of affection. I want to know what everyone thinks about what she said, about what she did. How does that make your heart feel inside? (I'm not asking to be cruel, I'm asking as a test to see if I wrote it the way I wanted it to be)_**


	11. Trial Of Tears

_**A/N: Alright, beware the ending, but other than that this chapter should do some justice to the entire story-line. Now time for shout-outs!**_

_**countegor: Hahahaha. I'm only 17. Chances are, I'm not the best writer out there; I've seen some stories that have more content and detail than mine does thusfar. The next one I write will have a goal of about 12,000 words per chapter, which is about double what I've been doing. :)**_

_**DanielRadcliffe'sWife: Sis...I wasn't trying to put Potter into the story, but if you can give me a legitimate reason, I can most certainly write a Potter fanfic for you. ;)**_

_**Now, on to the story!**_

_That...that...she...but...that BITCH!_

Cindy's mind couldn't even form words as she stood at the prosecuting counter, eyes blazing at the empty pocket of air where Betty Quinlan had been dragged away from. People were filing from the stands, muttering loudly about the trial. Things were definitely heating up, including Cindy's rage. She hadn't expected the truth to be that Betty had killed her unborn child, but then again she hadn't expected Jimmy to be accused of murder. Now, anything was possible.

"That BITCH!"

Cindy turned around and began slamming her fists against the risers, large dents and cracks forming under her lethal blows. She split the skin on her hands open as she lashed away at the wood, but there was no pain. She was beyond feeling.

"My boyfriend, my child...my _life!_ That bitch! That fucking bitch!"

She was reduced to tears as she fell backwards into the counter, bruising her spine and the back of her head, but she felt none of it. All she felt was the stabbing pains of torturous anger scoring her heart while an icy numbness contracted her womb. She felt like she was dying a slow, painful death.

Jimmy watched her sob, watched the crimson blood drip and pool on the floor in the center of the room. He was silent, emotionless, empty, numb. Betty had caused all of this. She had been the one. She had teamed up with an assassin to murder Celeste Benson, to destroy everything that he had. Even anger could not overpower the hollowness inside him as he stepped around the counter and over toward Cindy. He stepped around her counter as well and gently lifted her torso up into his arms. She sobbed into his shoulder, letting the blood from her hands stain the back of his shirt, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered except her.

She suddenly stopped crying. "You."

He had been stroking her hair, but stopped at the sound.

"You. You! You KNEW!"

She threw him violently into the risers, pinning him against the wall by the wrists. He could feel the dents in the wood with the back of his skull.

"You _knew that she had done this to us! You fucking knew and you lied to me about it! _You made me think YOU were the asshole! You made me think that _you were a piece of shit, you worthless motherfucking stupid-ass big-brained fuckwad!"_

"I had no choice, Cindy," he replied calmly, the void within him still leering outward.

"Yes you did! You had the ability to tell me, Jimmy! You could have told me the truth and _saved her life! _She _died _because you _couldn't come clean! Because you were too fucking proud of your own goddamned existence!_"

Without warning, he swung her one-hundred-eighty degrees and pinned her to the wall. He looked like he was ready to kill.

"I COULDN'T fucking tell you, Cynthia!"

She had never heard him use such vulgarity. She had also never heard him call her by her first name. She gulped and couldn't hold his enraged gaze.

"I couldn't tell you anything about it. _Anything! _Because I knew what would happen. You would loathe her for being jealous. I HAD to let you think it was me, even when I knew, I _knew_, that she had done it. I had to do it because I had to keep the peace. If I had ever told you what she had done, you would have hated her for it because you're that kind of person. You would have held her in contempt and tried to kill her for it. I _knew,_ Cynthia. I knew how you would react. I knew what had happened. And I knew that one way or another, it would all come to this."

She had begun crying again. She did not believe it ever occurred to him how scary he could be.

"And I had to lie to protect you. I didn't even know about the miscarriage until just a short time ago! Cynthia...if you would have fucking _told _me about it, about everything, instead of being so damn proud of yourself, so stuck-up and stubborn, I could have fixed everything before this. It never had be a murder that brought the truth out, Cynthia. We're _both _at fault for lying to each other."

She was still crying. Her head was hanging in shame and regret.

"And what's really the kicker in all of this, Cynthia...love is about trust, respect, and compassion. We should be able to tell each other everything. I've thought long and hard about this whole thing, and I realize that I was wrong. I believed I was protecting you by not telling you. I believed it meant that I loved you more." His voice became low and husky. He sounded like an animal. "And now...after all this...I realize that it must have been some kind of fluke, a joke to us both. If we were truly in love, and we loved each other unconditionally, we wouldn't have hidden anything from one another. I had three long years to think about that, Cynthia. Three. Long. Cold. Lonely. _Years._"

He released her arms, which fell limply to her sides. He then turned away from her and exited the room through the main double-doors, the same doors that Betty had been hauled away through. And even as he felt his heart repeatedly shattering into a million pieces, he did not look back at the girl who had shown him the light. And she did not look up to watch him go. They had finally reached an understanding, and it had all gone wrong.

_(time lapse)_

Jimmy stood tiredly on the balcony of the hotel, his bloodshot eyes gazing over the technicolor web of lights strung beneath him. He had one of his dark-blue-denim-jean-clad legs crossed over the ankle of the other, the bloody shirt still on his back, his arms resting gently on the rail, one hand dangling, the other holding a beer. His hair blew in the gentle, cool breeze that both woke him up and put him to sleep where he stood. It felt refreshing against his skin, a nice, calming contrast to the warm night that had enveloped the city.

_I never should have lost my temper. _He sighed and took another swig of the bottle.

He had debated jumping off the building. It would be a quick and painless death, assuming he landed on his head, which he could very easily do. There really wasn't anything stopping him from jumping; he'd lost just about every bit of solace and dignity he had from this trial, not to mention the legal fees he'd be having to cover. Death sounded like a very real, very clean possibility of escape from the pain.

And yet...he couldn't bring himself to jump. There were four things that were holding him back, four small, seemingly insignificant things that were so desperately preventing him from just standing on the railing, losing his balance, and plunging head-first to a quick, painless death. He could only imagine the anguish his dog would feel; the anger and shock of Carl, Sheen, even Libby; the sounds of his parents weeping over his cold, lifeless body in a casket as it sunk six feet underground and was covered with dirt and worms for eternity. But what kept his feet on the balcony most firmly, most surely and relentlessly, was one thing.

"Hey," a voice called. It sounded choked and cold.

"Hey," he responded. His voice was hoarse and his throat hurt as much as his eyes did. He took another long drink from the bottle before tossing it into the trashcan and lifting another from beside his foot to the railing, where he popped the cap off and settled it into his hand.

By then, she had come up beside him, opposite the beer. Her blonde hair flew in the breeze, billowing gently behind her as she stood at the railing. She was wearing a long, white night-gown that also tugged her backwards, as if calling her away from the railing.

"Nice night," she said idly. He nodded slowly.

"Nice atmosphere out here. Perfect for skydiving."

His words hit her like a ton of bricks and she slapped him across the face. Tears stung her eyes and she sniffed loudly.

"If you commit suicide, James Neutron, I swear on my life I'll-"

"You'll what?"

He had cut her off, very quietly, very subtly, but his voice glinted like a dagger, full of malice and violence. Two words had frozen her tongue, her spine, her legs and arms; goosebumps that had nothing to do with the breeze speckled her skin and left her speechless.

"I thought so," he commented, just as deathly, just as coldly.

"You know what?"

She grabbed his arm, and he wrenched it from her grasp. She repeated the motion, and he repeated his. She then grabbed his shoulders and yanked him away from the balcony; he dropped the beer and it exploded on the ground ten stories below. He latched onto her arm and swung her in a wide arc, where she landed on his bed. He stood panting, emotions roiling within him.

"No, I don't know what. So tell me, Cynthia. Tell me what it is I'm supposed to know!"

"You're a jerk. You're an ass. You're stuck-up and selfish and everything that could ever be bad about a person and you don't care."

He blinked, but the scowl did not leave his face.

"And do you know what the worst part is?" she asked shakily, standing on weak-knees, gently crossing the room to stand before him, where she looped her arms around his neck.

"The worst part...is that I love every bit of it. I love that you're not afraid of who you are, of what you have to say. I love that you're not scared. And I love that you're not afraid to show your emotions."

He blinked again, then bursted into harsh, angry laughter, laughter that shredded Cindy's heart. "You think I'm not afraid? You think I'm not scared? You think I show my emotions? You don't know me very well, then, Vortex."

"You know what, maybe I don't! Maybe I don't know you like I used to! Maybe we've both changed a lot in the past three years! But you know something else, Jimmy? I'm willing to get to know you again. I'm willing to stand here, fragile and breakable in your arms while you're angry and violent, and have complete trust that you won't raise a finger to hurt me. I may not know much about you since we've been apart, and I may not know all that's happened, and I may not even know who you are any more, but I know one thing that will never change, Jimmy. I know that I am in love with you."

There. She had said it. One-hundred percent truthfully and without any hesitation. She maintained a steady gaze into his eyes as they bored back into hers, but she could not decipher his emotional tirade. Eventually, his shoulders drooped and he sighed.

"Cindy...I'm so sorry."

He gently released himself from her grasp and walked back to the balcony, returning to his original vantage point. He could not help but let the tears fall from his tired eyes as he gazed over the city below.

Cindy watched him, let him go, knew he was crying. It made her cry to see him so vulnerable, so exposed and naked before her. And without a thought, she crossed the distance, reached to his shoulder, spun him around, and looped her arms around his neck for the second time that night.

"Jimmy...I love you..." she mumbled, their faces getting close. Their noses touched, eyes closed, tears streaming down their cheeks.

"And...I will always love you, Jimmy," she finished.

Their lips met and warmth spontaneously combusted within their bodies. She felt his arms wrap around her lower back, and she held him closer. He could feel her heartbeat against his chest and wondered if she could feel his. Distantly, they were aware of the sounds of honking cars and ringing telephones and flickering lights from the city, but they had become lost in their own world, and their tears kept falling, even as they were at peace with one another. It felt so good, so right, so true for them both to be together, despite the odds, despite the circumstances. Pain turned to pleasure, angry hearts turned to amorous souls. Cindy felt her shoulders shaking as she sighed into him, gently breaking the passionate moment of revelation. She relooped her arms around his waist, relaxing her head against his chest. He leaned against the railing, his arms trailing down her spine, gently massaging her back from above. Their eyes had dried, their hearts had accelerated, their minds had finally cleared. For the first time in three long, hard years, they were both completely at peace with themselves and each other.

_(time lapse)_

"This court will now reconvene for the trial of Mr. James Isaac Neutron, who has been accused of the murder of Ms. Celeste Benson. Is everyone ready to resume trial?"

"The prosecution is ready, Your Honor," Cindy stated calmly. She looked much happier and at ease than she had the previous day.

"The defense is ready, Your Honor," Priscilla followed plainly.

"Very well. The prosecution may call its first witness."

"The prosecution would like to warn the court of something before it calls its first witness of the day."

"And what would that be?" The judge looked a bit miffed.

"The next witness...is a bit mentally unstable."

Jimmy heard Priscilla gulp loudly beside him. He prepared for the worst again.

"She...may become violent or unreasonably angry with the defense's questioning, so I strongly caution that you tread lightly and be careful."

"Duly noted," she replied to the blond, who then cleared her throat.

"The prosecution wishes to call Natalie Pandemna to the stand."

The doors opened and a strange woman took her place behind the podium. She was wearing a pair of glasses rather lopsidedly and had a large smear on her cheek that looked to be some kind of food stain. Her shirt was on backwards and one leg of her pants was rolled up past her knee. She looked a bit flustered and also a bit unsure of herself. The only thing that gave her sanity was the camera she held in her hand; it was a very nice camera, one that Jimmy recognized for its crystal-clear picture quality.

The woman leaned over the stand and her shirt flopped a bit, nearly revealing things better left unseen. The judge blinked, flabbergasted, and cleared his throat.

"Erm...will the witness please state her name and occupation?"

"Hmm...well, I think my name is Natalie...Natalie Pandemna, or something...and I think I'm supposed to be a photographer of nature...I think..."

"You think?"

"HEY! YOU GOT A PROBLEM, BUDDY?" She looked positively scary. The judge nearly fell out of his chair.

"I-I'm sorry, I didn't mean anything..."

"...well...it's okay, I think..."

"R-right...will the witness please testify as to what she saw?"

"...I can do that...I think..."

Priscilla groaned.

"Well...I was at the park, and it was dark and cold...I think...and I had my camera to photograph owls...I think...And then I heard two loud noises and saw someone running through the trees. I think. I took a photo of him...and I think it's him," she finished, pointing at Jimmy. He sighed, slumping in his chair.

"Right...that was very unclear...does the witness have this photo?"

She reached into her pocket and drew out a photograph. The bailiff gently pulled it from her fingers and she blew up.

"HEY! YOU'VE GOT NO RIGHT STEALING WHAT'S MINE!"

"Ma'am, this is evidence for this trial."

"I DON'T GIVE AN AT'S RASS WHAT YOU CALL IT, IT'S MINE!"

She groped for it desperately, but the bailiff presented it to the judge. He looked it over and then handed it to Cindy. Cindy scanned it into the tablet and pushed a button on the screen, and it translated onto Priscilla's screen.

It was a blurry photo of a dark figure running between trees. There wasn't anything defining about the figure, other than one key detail that stuck out to both the prosecution and the witness.

"Your Honor," Priscilla began, "this evidence is in direct contradiction with another piece of evidence that we have in our custody."

"And what is the contradiction?"

She held up a photo of Jimmy's rifle. "This is."

"That's a rifle, isn't it?"

"Yes, Your Honor. To be specific, I believe it is classified as a 'thirty-aught-six' rifle, a long-range ballistics sniper-rifle. This particular photo is of my client's personal rifle, as it appeared in the precinct's evidence room. However...it is a direct contradiction to this photograph. Rather, it presents _two _contradictions with this photograph."

"It does?" The judge looked astounded. "Please, explain how."

"Yes, do," Cindy said, clearly just as surprised as the judge.

"The first contradiction is in the information. According to the detective who was in charge of this case, Detective Flatfoot, this rifle was found at the scene of the murder. However, this person was in this location," Priscilla paused, holding up a map of the park. She pointed to an area out in the middle of the southern forest that matched the photo fairly well. "This is a contradiction to the rifle that was recovered at the scene of the crime."

"How so?"

"The rifle was recovered here," she replied to the judge, pointing at Jimmy's hideout. The judge looked unfazed.

"And what does that mean?"

"It means that this man cannot be my client, Your Honor. He is carrying a rifle away from a location that does not match where the rifle was found. This means that my client was framed. To prove my point further, we come to the second contradiction.

"Mr. Neutron. Tell the court again what type of rifle you own?"

"I own a rifle most commonly known as a thirty-aught-six."

"And this is the photo of your rifle?"

"It is."

"Now, look at this photograph for me, Mr. Neutron. Particularly, the gun."

"What about it?"

"Can you tell the court what type of gun it appears to be?"

"Well...it is difficult to say from just this photograph alone...but I would suspect it's an M82 model."

"Kindly point out the differences between your rifle and this model."

"Well...a thirty-aught-six has a shorter barrel and a smaller bullet. This M82 has a long barrel for long-range shots, a large bullet for in-depth penetration, and a blocky head that helps center the bullet on its target."

"Tell me, Mr. Neutron. For the court. What size bullet does this type of rifle require?"

"An M82 is a military-grade ballistics sniper-rifle that only utilizes fifty-caliber bullet rounds."

"And a thirty-aught-six?"

"The name of the gun is the name of the bullet: thirty long to six wide. A fifty-caliber is heavier and more aerodynamic for longer range and higher speed."

"Thank you, Mr. Neutron, for that analysis."

"Objection!" Cindy called, finally. "This analysis is based on speculation and a fuzzy photo. I believe Mr. Neutron could be wrong about the details."

"Objection!" Priscilla looked a bit angry. "Are you insinuating that my client is incapable of determining a gun by its shape and bullet?"

"I am not. I am merely stating that it is entirely possible that he is lying."

"Objection!" She looked only slightly less angry. "What reason would my client have to lie about a gun that _does not belong to him while he is under oath?_"

"He is merely trying to gain an acquittal. This does not mean he is innocent at all!"

"And why not?"

"Because the deduction of what type of gun it is could only be done by someone who knows gun types and sizes!"

The audience murmured loudly. The judge beat his gavel twice, and silence fell once again.

"In light of the new information, I believe another testimony is required. Witness! Please testify as to where you saw the figure, and where you were standing."

"...I think I can do that..."

"Well, I was sitting in a little opening in the trees...right here," she said, pointing to the area on the map. "I was sitting on the log, just looking around, and I heard this noise...I think. It was loud and came from my right, really sudden and...loud...I think...Then I heard another one, and I got up to go look. And then I saw him running away, holding that thing...I think...so I took a picture. Then I left and the dude with the hat called me over...I think."

"The 'dude with the hat'?"

"Your Honor, I believe she is referring to a police officer," Cindy stated. The judge nodded.

"Understood. Ms. Serafie, your cross-examination may now begin."

She had already begun rereading the testimony, but paused. "Ms. Pandemna...you say that you were sitting on a log in the opening?"

"Yes. I remember that clearly."

"Tell me...was Mr. Neutron's rifle present at that time?"

"I do not believe so."

"But you heard the shots?"

"Yes."

"And they weren't in the clearing?"

"No."

"How do you know where they came from?"

"Well...I had to guess. I saw the guy running and just...believed it was him."

"Do you believe it was my client?"

"...I don't know."

"A moment ago, you said it was."

"Objection! There will be no badgering of my witness."

"Sustained," the judge replied. "Ms. Serafie, get to the point."

"Y-yes, Your Honor." She cleared her throat. "My explanation is this: my client could not have been at the suggested location at the time the shooting occurred, as he was not with this witness at that time, nor was his rifle present. This means that the rifle had to have been placed at the clearing to frame my client sometime after the actual murder took place. Most likely, the killer planted it there after he was certain all witnesses were gone and the clearing was empty, which would have been about ten minutes after the shots were fired. That would be about the time the police arrived, meaning he still would have had a chance to get away and pin the blame on my client."

"Ms. Serafie. Let me ask you something," Cindy said icily, pausing for a moment. She flipped her hair over her shoulder and looked tiredly at the defense attorney. "Who exactly are you trying to pin this crime on?"

"I'm not here to pin this on anyone. I merely wish that proper justice is served."

"But to whom, Ms. Serafie? So far, you are proving your client innocent without proving a witness guilty."

"There is...one witness...whom we haven't heard from yet, I believe."

Cindy gasped. "Ms. Serafie. You can't be serious."

"Ms. Vortex, you and I both know that the likelihood is very high that he may have something definitive to say. He is the only male witness besides Mr. Datowey. He is very likely to be the true killer."

Cindy scoffed. "Are you so desperate that you'll grasp at straws? How could he be the killer?"

"He's the only one we've not heard from, he's the closest relation we have to the victim at this time, and he's also the one who has already served time in prison for a rape felony. Ms. Vortex, please think logically. He may very well be the killer."

"I...ugh," she groaned, digging her nails into her scalp. Priscilla turned to the judge.

"The defense will now close its cross-examination of this witness. On behalf of the prosecution, we will call the final witness to the stand. This witness may be the key to the entire crime, Your Honor."

"How so?"

"He may be the one to define who truly killed Ms. Benson that night."

The judge raised his eyebrows. "Very well. Call the witness."

"The defense will call to the stand, on behalf of the prosecution, Mr. Venn Riege."

The doors opened and a handsome young man entered the room, striding past Natalie as she stumbled her way off the stand. He stood behind the podium and grinned at the judge.

"Judge! Long time no see!"

"Mr. Riege...you're the _witness to your sister's death?_"

He pouted, looking glum. "Tragic...I hate to be able to say it, but yes, I was forced to watch her die."

"Hmm..."

Cindy cleared her throat. "Witness. Please state your name, occupation, and prior conviction for the court record?"

"Why my conviction?"

"Because it is necessary that we know his criminal record."

"Easy, gramps. I'll talk. My name is Venn Riege. I was the victim's step-brother; the only blood we shared were our parents. I'm currently unemployed, but I'm probably going to end up designing shirts and piercings," he said dauntingly, tugging gently on the multi-spiked ear piercing that hung from his left ear. It looked like a miniature sea urchin.

"And your prior conviction?"

"I was convicted three days after my eighteenth birthday. I had been charged with rape and assault and battery of my step-sister, the victim in this case, Celeste Benson."

He had a very taciturn look on his face. It seemed as if he had been discussing how his day had gone rather than the fact that he had raped his family member. Everyone in the room got chills from his calmness at such a horrid topic.

"Err...yes, well...let's have your testimony then."

"Alright, well, let's see...I had eaten dinner with Ms. Quinlan earlier that evening. It was delicious. We discussed business, as we usually do when we eat together, which isn't very often. Afterwards, I got in my truck and drove back to my apartment. It's about fifteen minutes away. Betty had told me that she wanted to meet up in the park late that night, but didn't specify when, so I got myself dressed and cleaned up before driving back over. I was just coming up the main entrance walkway when I heard the shots. I got curious and ran toward the noise. That's when I saw Betty, hunched over my dead sister's body, a police officer trying to pull her away. The tears in Betty's eyes will haunt me forever."

He looked stricken. Priscilla barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. _It's all bullshit._

"How touching..." the judge sniffed. "Ms. Serafie, do what you must."

"Gladly," she chuckled darkly. "Mr. Riege. Please repeat for me the statement about the body."

"I saw Betty, hunched over my dead sister's body, a police officer trying to pull her away."

"Now, back up a line. Where were you when you heard the shots?"

"I was coming up the main entrance walkway. Didn't you hear me?"

"I heard you, but you just sold me a huge lie, Mr. Riege."

"How exactly have I lied?"

"Very simple." She held up the map. "If you were at the entrance when you heard the shots, that would put you here. And the crime-scene was here. The distance between these two points, when walking, is about five minutes time. You said you ran toward the noise. Mr. Riege, let me enlighten you to something. Something you may have overlooked in your lies."

"Something I overlooked?"

"The officer."

"What about him?"

"Officer Blark was the first on the scene. However, as it has been stated previously, _he did not arrive on the scene until fifteen minutes later._"

Venn raised his eyebrows, surprised, but undaunted. "Well, miss, the sound didn't come from any particular direction, so I wandered around for a bit before I found the scene."

"And I once again know that you are lying. Mr. Riege, just in your testimony, you stated that you 'ran toward the noise'. Are you aware that you have now contradicted yourself twice in one testimony?"

He looked just a hair nervous, but unperturbed for the most part. "I may have made some error in my assumptions. I did run toward the noise. However, I did not tell the whole truth about one bit. May I testify again as to where I really was?"

"You should have done so the first time," the judge reprimanded. "However, everyone has the right to a fair trial, so please, testify for us once again."

"You see, I only claimed that I was coming from the entrance to the park to deter suspicion. I actually came from the forest, after hearing the shots being fired while at the entrance. I ran into the trees to try and search for the killer, but no luck. I never found anyone, neither the killer nor anyone else."

"Hmm...you may cross-examin-"

"Objection!"

"So soon?" The judge gaped at Priscilla, who had a fierce glint in her eyes.

"Your Honor, that testimony was a _lie!_"

"How?"

"Mr. Riege, I believe you when you say you were in the forest. However, I fail to believe you when you say you were searching for the killer. I also fail to believe you when you said that you saw nobody there."

"And why is that?"

"Because Ms. Pandemna was in the forest that night, and she happened to photograph the killer as he left the scene of the crime."

He raised an eyebrow. "And your point is?"

"She was there. In the forest. Right as you enter the forest, there is a clearing of trees. And that's where she had been during the shooting, where she captured the photo. I have both her testimony and the picture she took to back my statements."

"So you think that because I didn't see her, I'm a liar?"

"Mr. Riege, that is the only legally-known path into the forest. Unless you have some other explanation as to how you were in the forest and did not see her?"

"...actually...I do."

Priscilla rolled her eyes. "What does the prosecution think?"

Cindy closed her eyes for a moment. "It is too soon to decide anything."

"Alright. Judge, I request that the witness testify again, this time about the forest."

"Yes. Testify, witness."

"Easy, easy, gramps. No need to have a heart attack on us.

"So, I had already been in my truck, and there wasn't any legal parking anywhere around the park so that I could stop and go inside. I saw the alleyway that the workers use to clear the sewage ditch and water the plants, so I backed the truck in there and parked it. But I got out and it was quiet. I heard the shots and ran toward them, but when I got to where I thought they had come from, nothing was there. Then I headed west, trying to make sense of the forest. I finally got out and met up with Betty and the other guy, who were being questioned by the cop."

"Hmm...cross-examination is necessary, I take it?"

"It is, Your Honor." She cleared her throat, then looked to Cindy, who nodded minutely enough not to be noticed.

"I have one thing to say to you, Mr. Riege."

"And what would that be?"

"_OBJECTION!_"

She slammed her fists against the counter, leaving dents. "Mr. Riege. You may be many things, but a good liar is not one of them. You have now contradicted a piece of evidence I have, and confirmed another. Would you like me to continue, or will you give up your charade now?"

"I'd like to see what you have up your sleeve, Ms. Serafie. Your skills for tiny accusations based on small, barely-meaningful facts are legendary."

"No doubt, then, that my prowess will be undaunted by the likes of you. Take a look at this photo once again."

The judge squinted. "That's the photo Ms. Pandemna took."

"And think back to what the witness said. 'I heard the shots and ran toward them, but when I got to where I thought they had come from, nothing was there'. That is a _lie._ You see, this map," she drew the map out again, "is all based on distance versus time. You parked your truck somewhere along the sewage alley, which I would hazard a guess was about here," she said, pointing, "based on this photo of some squealing truck tires," she produced the photo of the ruts in the dirt, "and following that, if the shots were fired when you claim, since this photo was taken about two minutes afterwards, _the photographer would have had you dead in her sights._"

He blinked, gazing at Priscilla, unsure of himself.

"You've also lied about when you parked the truck there. See, according to our analysis of the leftover rubber marks on the tree-roots nearby, this truck was parked at about ten o'clock on the night of the murder, and driven away only ten minutes after the crime was committed. This means that you showed up almost an hour and a half before the murder took place. What, then, were you doing during this time period?"

"I...was..."

"No doubt setting up. Mr. Riege, may I ask you how you are related to Ms. Quinlan?"

"Objection! That is irrelevant!"

"Objection! She already admitted to being an accomplice to murder and having dinner with him that night; it is entirely relevant to this case!"

"Sustained. Continue."

"So, how are you and Ms. Quinlan associated with one another?"

"We're in a relationship."

"A committed one, I presume."

"Of course."

"Then why did you claim that it is hard for you two to come by one another?"

"Well, me being unemployed and she being a model, our schedules don't add up."

"Really? Interesting...tell me this, how did you afford the dinner?"

"Objection!"

"Overruled. Ms. Vortex, please."

She growled, but stood back.

"So, how?"

"What do you mean? She's a model. She paid for it."

"I find that hard to believe. She said she's been out of the modeling loop for quite some time. If you are unemployed, and she hasn't had any new sessions, how, then, are you making an income? How did you pay for dinner? How can you afford a nice apartment?"

"Ms. Serafie, these questions are losing relevance..." the judge warned.

"Your Honor, I am not trying to drive the point away from this case. I am trying to establish a better understanding of the witness's connections."

"Connections?"

"Think about it, Your Honor. If he is unemployed, and his girlfriend is effectively unemployed, there is no income. He doesn't look like he would have money sitting in the bank ready to spend on a whim or desire, and I highly doubt he has a rich aunt to keep him alive. So how can he afford luxury when he's not even making the bare minimum?"

"That is a bit mysterious...but what is this about connections?"

"There's another reason he's in this relationship with Ms. Quinlan besides that of lust, Your Honor."

"Hey, I love her, and that's that."

"You may believe that, but she's only here as long as you're useful to her, and I believe that you're losing your value in her eyes."

Priscilla shuffled her papers. "I would like to present to the court a piece of information that I had to withhold, something that until just a moment ago was irrelevant to this case, to the information I am pressing for. Mr. Riege has not always been unemployed. He used to be employed as the manager of a gun shop."

The audience began murmuring again. The judge banged his gavel on the pedestal. "Order, order. Ms. Serafie, please try and get to the point."

"I'll make it quick, Your Honor. This all ties in, I assure you." She cleared her throat. "It says here on your file that you were fired from your job as the manager. Will you explain to the court why, Mr. Riege, or shall I?"

"By all means," he said, looking indifferent.

"He was fired for stealing. He robbed the store of a very expensive, very powerful rifle. Not just any rifle, an M28 sniper-rifle. He also stole with it a box of ammunition for the gun. Being the manager of a gun shop of high-quality, high-caliber arms and weapons, I'm fairly certain that you had to have a gun safety class, as well as a gun toting class. This means that you actually, yes, had to utilize a real sniper-rifle to shoot at targets, to better understand the gun. It's all listed here under your file.

"You were fired for stealing it, but since they couldn't pin anything on you for certain, they had to let you go without a trial. There was no evidence, save the missing gun. Nothing so much as a misplaced fingerprint. You were very clever, very sly.

"I presume you stole the gun as a way to practice." She laughed at her own joke. "Your Honor, I mean no disrespect in my laughter. However, he was not using the gun to practice. He wanted it to kill. He had stolen the firearm at the request of his girlfriend, Ms. Betty Quinlan. She knew he could shoot the gun, and she knew that she wanted someone to suffer. Recall yesterday, when she lost her mind a bit at the end of the cross-examination? She let loose an outburst against my client and the prosecution. She wanted my client dead because he broke her heart. Such a silly thing to want to kill someone for, if you ask me.

"Mr. Riege had the gun and the girl. He needed a day and time. And since they were both so close to Oxford, it was a simple matter of asking any student they saw when the final exams were.

"He then tried to forge a letter from my client, even signing my client's name. But the handwriting is wrong. It doesn't match at all. However, the letter ended up in the victim's dorm, where she most likely discovered it after returning to it late that evening, after having spent the majority of the day with Mr. Neutron. There was ample time for the note to be deposited. Following that, Mr. Riege drove his truck into the alleyway, so as not to be seen, and set up the gun to lie in wait. He had already stolen Mr. Neutron's gun from the dorm and had planted the note. Now all he needed was the victim."

"He waited for her to show up, waited for the perfect moment. But she had brought the note. Betty saw it and alerted him." She turned to the witness, who was still standing, still as a statue, indifferent to the accusations. "You then pulled the trigger, and without waiting for the shot to fire, you reloaded the gun, just after the first bullet had left the barrel. Expert timing. The victim dropped, helplessly, to the ground.

"Someone had to have heard the shot, other than the two visible witnesses. You grabbed everything and ran to your truck and loaded it inside the cab, bringing out my client's gun. But you waited until at least ten minutes had passed before planting it. You had to make sure everyone was running to the crime scene, not in the forest. And you planted the gun, unknowing of the simple truth that the gun hid even from you, a master marksman."

She paused. The air was still and dead, the audience hanging on her every word.

"Mr. Neutron had just recently purchased the gun, and as a result, _he had not placed the firing pin inside the chamber._"

A flash of agony cut the witness's face before he regained his composure. Both attorneys and the judge saw the reaction. _I've got him. I'll wring him dry._

"You ran, then. Into your truck. You drove out on the street and parked somewhere away, walking back. Then you came upon the scene that you described, with the officer trying to get your girlfriend away from the body. Just as you said, Mr. Riege...your step-sister was gone, by your own hand of blood. Do you deny it?"

He blinked, then shrugged. "All of this is based on assumption from what you already know, coupled with a desperation to prove that Neutron didn't do it. There's one key ingredient that you're missing besides something concrete to build your case on."

"And that is?"

"A motive. What reason would I have had for wanting my sister dead?"

She paused. "You're right. You needed a motive. And you had one."

"Oh? Do tell," he replied, looking less confident.

"Let me think...you were convicted at age eighteen for the rape and assault of your step-sister, is that right? I believe the sentence was three years since you pleaded guilty with service."

"That is correct," he growled.

"There's your motive. Venn Riege, you were interested in getting revenge on your sister, just as Betty was interested in getting revenge on my client. You both wanted revenge for the same reason: three years of torturous hell."

He blinked twice, then sighed.

"Do you deny it?" Priscilla pressed.

He looked down, staring at the microphone on the stand. "I never thought it would come to this...to think that I could be guilty, again."

"Strange, isn't it? How some small mistakes lead to one big catastrophe?"

"Yeah, strange. Hey, Neutron?"

He looked around Priscilla to Jimmy, who raised his eyebrows.

"Say hello to my sister for me," he said, smiling darkly. For in his hand, pointing right at Jimmy's head, was a revolver. There was a single bullet loaded into the chamber.

"Feeling lucky, Neutron?"

"Bailiff! Arrest this man!"

"_IF YOU TOUCH ME, I KILL EVERYONE IN THIS ROOM! I HAVE MORE THAN ENOUGH BULLETS FOR YOU ALL!_" He ripped his jacket open, where strings of revolver reloaders hung. Everyone gasped.

"So, Neutron. Feeling lucky?"

"Why, Venn? Why me?"

"It's not for me, it's for Betty. She loved you, Neutron, and you crushed her. Even now, you're supposed to be some kind of fucking genius and you don't get it! And you!"

He rounded on Priscilla. "You couldn't let it go, could you? There's just no stopping, no end! You don't know what these allegations do to me! I hate them all! You guys are all out for yourselves, including you!"

He turned to Cindy. She gulped and backed up into the risers, the wood wall meeting her back. The dents were still there and reminded her of her outburst. They seemed so trivial compared to her present situation.

"You just fucking stand there and don't even help me out? What, I'm guilty? So what? You're supposed to be accusing _him _of murder, not letting her pin it on me!"

"I knew that my client was innocent from day one, Riege! I couldn't let an innocent man go to jail for your actions. You have no sense of accountability, do you?"

He paused, then laughed, cocking the hammer. "And you have no concept of _loyalty_," he spat, holding the gun level with her forehead. She blinked back tears.

"I guess that you'll find that hell will welcome you, just as it welcomed my sister, the filthy slut. Please, say hello to her for me."

"Stop him!" the judge cried, throwing the gavel at the witness.

_BANG!_

Cindy scrunched her eyes closed, tightly shut against the shot. But there was no pain. She heard struggling and scuffling. Then a scream, and shouts from the stands.

"Jimmy!"

Cindy opened her eyes. Venn was being dragged away, laughing maniacally in his handcuffs as the bailiffs clouted him over the head with the empty pistol, the reloaders falling heavily from his coat. The laughter fell on her deaf ears as she looked slowly around the room. A big mop of red disappeared below the edge of her counter, into the center of the room, very slowly, as though in a time-lapse. She looked up to the stands and watched as Sheen, Carl, and Libby slowly scrambled over one another to get out the door. Nothing made sense. _Did he shoot me?_

She slowly stepped around the counter and looked at the mop of red. Priscilla was kneeling over a body, one that had been shot in the side of the head. She fell to her knees and draped herself over the man, the man she loved.

As if someone pushed play on the world's remote, everything suddenly had sound, and it was cacophony. Shouts, screams, desperate scrambling and ravaging pounded against her eardrums. She stroked the face of the boy beneath her, Priscilla's arms clasped to the side of his head. She placed her hands on the spot, and found them blood-soaked.

"Prissy...call...hospital..."

The red-head nodded, then pulled out her phone, staying beside the two. Cindy couldn't hear her. All she heard was the screaming. All she felt was the tears sliding down her face, stained with mascara and blush. They landed in his bloody hair, mixing with the red unevenly. She sobbed.

"God...damn...it..._JIMMY!_"

The only thing she could feel at that moment was the gentle, slowed beat of his heart under her fingers, the breath exhaling from his lungs slowly and painfully, as he fought for the last moments of his life.

* * *

**_Love me or hate me, this is how the chapter ends...but is it the end of the story? YOU TELL ME! Do I end it here, with a bad ending, or do I keep writing and find out more about Venn and Celeste with more chapters, as well as Jimmy's fate? It's all up to you, the reviewers!_**


	12. A Meeting Of The Minds

**_A/N: I kinda felt bad about the way the last chapter ended...hopefully this one fixes it. I bet you all were stunned that I had the gall to write such a tragedy, eh? Ah well. Short filler chapter, just to kinda move the plot along. :)_**

* * *

Darkness overtook the bustling city once again. The noise of the night fell on deaf ears as the face they belonged to gazed out the window numbly. It hadn't spoken since the trial. Nothing was right. Not now. He was gone.

_Gone..._

She let another tear fall down her face. Beside her, another sniffled, both watching buildings and cars pass on opposite sides of the street. Nothing was relevant. Past, present, future...it all made no sense anymore.

_Wait a minute..._

She looked around. Hadn't they passed that exact building just a moment ago? No, it could only be imagination playing tricks. Still...

_There it is again!_

"Let me out. Here. Now."

The cabbie pulled the car over, and she got out, looking at the building curiously. It looked like an ordinary workplace, and yet...

The building flickered, as though it were an image on a television with bad reception. Cindy gasped and watched as it disappeared, the ValleCorp title disappearing along with it. In its place sat a smaller building, this one heralded by a name that made Cindy's blood run cold.

Atom Inc.

_Jimmy._

Cindy went into the building curiously and was immediately met with...nothing.

She looked around, but it was completely black. No light seemed to exist. Even Cindy seemed not to exist, as she could not see her hand in front of her face. She turned around, and all that stood was a door, just like the backside of the door she had entered. And yet, she could not see through the window.

She cautiously stepped around the door and saw that it really was just a door, standing stock-still in the middle of nowhere. _What the hell?_

A sudden deafening noise struck Cindy's eardrums and she fell to her knees in pain. She clutched her ears for a moment while they refocused on the silence that had once again descended. What was going on?

"Jimmy?" she called."

She looked around, and oddly enough, there was another door. She was still standing beside the 'entrance', but there was another door some way in the distance. Curiosity got the better of her, and she walked toward it. It seemed to back away from her, and when she glanced over her shoulder, she saw that the entrance door was still right behind her. She cried out in surprise and frustration.

"Damn it! I want to know what's going on!"

She turned around and the exit door was right in front of her. _What the...?_

She grasped the doorknob. It was warm and inviting, and with only a heartbeat of hesitation, she opened the door.

It swung inward, and Cindy was suddenly attacked by a mind that seemed to be much greater than anything she could fathom. Only...where every mind was full of thoughts, this one was filled with cloud and blankness.

_Who are you?_

Cindy had not asked the question. _What?_

_Who are you?_

She found herself unable to speak. It was like trying to communicate with someone who was both deaf and blind. _I'm...Cindy._

_What do you want here?_

_I...what's going to happen to Jimmy?_

The mind went blank again, and a sudden memory found its way to the front of her consciousness.

"_Doctor, will he be alright?"_

"_Miss, I'm going to have to ask you to sit down."_

_She slapped the clipboard out of his hands. "No, goddamnit! Tell me! Is he going to live?"_

"_Miss, restrain yourself, or I will have you removed!"_

"_I don't care one iota about anything except for an answer, doctor, and if I don't get it, you all will."_

_The doctor stooped and picked up the clipboard. "I can't answer your question yet. We just put him in the ICU. Please, have a little patience."_

"_Patience? I can't have patience! Every minute that goes by is another minute that he dies! Or did you forget that he took a bullet to his genius brain?"_

_The doctor sighed. "Five minutes. That's all I ask. I'll be able to determine a prognosis by then. Please, Miss. Sit. Five minutes is all I ask."_

"_Not a moment longer, doctor," she had huffed, livid beyond reason. However, as soon as she sat, the anger gave way to sadness and insanity._

"_He's...he's going to die..." She broke down into tears, the cold, bitter emotions washing over her and rifting her heart, leaving it scarred and mangled. She was distantly aware of Priscilla's arm on her back, scratching it gently, but it made no difference. She couldn't help Jimmy. Nobody could. Nobody but him._

"_Miss."_

_She looked up. The doctor was back and looked very grave._

"_I'm...not sure how to tell you this...CT scanning revealed a microchip implanted on the inside of the front of his skull. The bullet pierced right through the chip, which had been communicating with the brain, it seems. When the bullet broke the contact, it gained an electrical charge for a brief moment. Then it stabbed into the brain, shocking the neurons. The connection put the brain in a coma; the bullet proceeded to deepen it into an almost-death-like state. He is in such a deep coma, it is unsure if he will ever recover."_

"_Can you remove the slag?"_

"_To do so would require a neurosurgeon the likes of which we've never seen before. Unfortunately...there is no way to bring that bullet out of his brain without killing him. There is also no way to operate, as the CT scan showed heavy amounts of electrical and neural discharge arcing across his brain, keeping it alive while killing it slowly. The rate of growth equals the rate of decay, and to intercept the sparks would increase the decay so far that he would die."_

_She sobbed. "It's hopeless! He's braindead and in a comatose state! My Jimmy...gone!"_

"_I'm sorry, Miss. I have no options left."_

"_No...please, keep him alive. Keep that IV hooked up. Do everything you can, doctor. For me."_

_The look she had given him was so pitiful and so full of anguish and neglect that he nearly broke down himself. "I...I have no authority..."_

"_Doctor...think about if that was your wife. Would you just...let her die?"_

"_No...No, I would fight."_

"_This is me fighting," she replied, sobbing. The doctor sniffled._

"_So heart-breaking...so devastating...Miss, I will do everything in my power as the head surgeon in this facility to see to it that Mr. Neutron is kept stable, even if it means that he is forced to sit in front of death's door until his body gives in."_

"_A-and how long would that take," she choked._

"_At this time...it is predicted that he has two weeks. I personally would only hope for one due to the hemorrhaging..."_

_She had broken into tears then. The doctor had decided his fate. She had one week before she had to say goodbye. The bitter taste of anger rose in her throat and she went numb. Everything was gone._

The memory faded, replaced by another question:

_Is this what you want for him?_

_No!_

The mind flinched, but had planned forward.

_What do you want?_

_I want him to live._

_But for one week? How can you change his fate?_

_He...he changed mine._

The consciousness seemed to blink at her in astonishment. _What gave you that idea?_

_The building. It wouldn't have been replaced by Jimmy if it had nothing to do with him._

_I see...what makes you think it's him?_

_Intuition._

_No math? No logic?_

_The only explanation I have is that it's a sign from him!_

It paused. _You are correct in your deduction._

_I am?_

_This was indeed created by Mr. Neutron. I am a computer-based method of question-and-answer, and Mr. Neutron did something that he has never done before._

_What?_

_He connected a device to a living being._

_You mean his neuro-board?_

_Not just that. That was the second. You see...he connected me to himself._

_But...but that's..._

_Not impossible. If the neuro-board can do it, why can't I?_

Cindy blinked, unable to comprehend. _What the hell are you talking about?_

_Let me ask you something: where were you before you came here?_

_The last thing I remember...was the hospital chair._

It paused for a second, then put an image into her head. It was a seemingly live video recording of her, asleep in a chair, sitting beside Jimmy in his ICU bed, her hand lightly hanging on to his.

_Where did you get this?_

_You've been dreaming. This is where you really are._

_Then...if this is a dream-_

_I am not a dream._

_But if I'm dreaming, how is this possible?_

_What do you mean?_

She struggled with herself for a moment. _I...am a prosecuting attorney. My job is to find contradiction in the witness's statements, and if you are my witness, what you've just said contradicts what I already know. You said I've been dreaming, but that this isn't a dream. How does that work?_

_You had been dreaming before you contacted me. All I did was show you the door. You walked through it yourself._

_You sound like something out of a movie or something._

_Hardly. I am a living consciousness._

_How? You just said you were digital, didn't you?_

_I lied._

_Then how can I trust you?_

_The same way you trusted me when I gave you my alibi._

_Alibi...?_

_Think about it for a moment Cindy. Who else would you be talking to if not me?_

She gaped, and his face materialized before her. "Jimmy!"

"Cindy..." His disembodied face leaked a happy tear of joy. It hovered just out of her reach, and looked like it was encountering static; the pigments were wrong, the inflection of his voice kept changing with each word, and he seemed to have just a slight lisp.

"Are you okay?"

"Well...that depends."

"On?"

"On which part of me you're referring to."

"What do you mean?"

"My body will live. That much is guaranteed. However...my brain is not so healthy."

The image grew fuzzy and flickered, then regained focus.

"How are you here, then, if you're out there?"

"The neuro-board. I gave it the ability to join minds together in a conference, sort of like a mental phone-call."

"How long is the connection maintained?"

"As long as we need it to be."

"Do I have to be asleep?"

"No."

"So we could have mental conversations whenever?"

He sighed, looking glum. "It's not that simple. Such a translation of energy and thought into tangible conversation is not easy for the neuro-board to handle, especially not now that the primary capacitor is destroyed."

"The what?"

"The primary capacitor. That's what kept the electrical current inside the chip. The only thing that was connected to my actual brain was a simple link of thought. Now...the electricity is hurting me as much as it is helping."

"Which means?"

"That every moment I live is another moment I die."

"So...you're going to die like the doctor said?"

"Well...not...no."

"Jimmy, what are you hiding?"

"Technically, the only reason I'm still 'alive' is because my body is in-tact. My mind has been diverted, my consciousness has had to evacuate the brain for safety. That was the pulse you felt earlier...I felt your mind nearby and I...well, let's just say that I'm in your brain with you."

"You're with me? So we can talk whenever?"

"It takes a great deal of energy from you to do so, though. While you're sleeping, your mind is more at ease to hold such conversation. When you're awake, so much is going on that it's like a computer processor on overload. You'd have to be totally relaxed to reach me; this kind of mind-to-mind communication requires a very dedicated amount of mental capacity and focus."

"So...you're here, but you're not?"

"I'm here, but almost unreachable."

"What happens to your body?"

"It'll live. The brain is damaged, though."

"How badly?"

"Badly enough that I had to get out. If I didn't move to your mind, I would be dead in a matter of hours."

"But the body is in stasis!"

"At this rate, it'll live and recover. However, it will be mentally unstable."

"You talk like it's all superficial, like you aren't really _you_."

"I am, and I'm not. It's a complicated twist."

"Obviously."

He laughed. "Same Cindy, different day."

She sighed. "You...you died for me, Jimmy."

"Well, not-"

"Stuff it. You gave yourself for me. Why?"

"Because...I had seen the future."

"The future?"

"I saw that day. I knew I would get off the hook."

"But you played like you wouldn't?"

"I followed the timeline like I should have, just because I needed to. However...I changed one thing."

"Oh?"

"The truth is...that bullet was supposed to kill you."

"What?"

"He fired the shot, and it was supposed to blow out through the back of your head, scattering brains and blood all over the courtroom. You would be dead, and I would be alive, forever scarred. He was dragged away, like normal, but you were gone. I couldn't live with that fact."

"How...how far into the future _did _you see?"

"Far enough to know I needed to fix it."

"What did you see?"

"I looked at everyone. You were gone. Your parents divorced from the pain. Your dad turned to alcohol and died of liver failure a year after your death. Your mother committed suicide at the loss of her daughter. She may act tough, but she loves you."

"What about everything else?"

"I looked at everyone. Libby and Sheen broke up. Sheen joined the army and was gunned down by a terrorist while fighting for his country. His dad was miserable. Libby went and followed the band around and became a groupie. Then she left them and went to the Red Light District. Everyone called her the African Queen, and she was always paid and filled."

"What about Carl?"

"He...the poor guy didn't know what to do. He just kinda fell from his rise, I guess. I tried checking in on him, but I never got much. It seems like he just lived at home, not doing anything."

"And...you?"

He was silent and closed his eyes. "Your death made something in my mind go a little haywire. Neurons crossed; my mind short-circuited. I went back home two days later and murdered my parents in grief for you. Then I dismantled Goddard, not wanting any memory of any of it. I blew up the lab and leveled the house. Then I ran away...I tried everything I could to contact you, but it was all for naught. You never answered because you went to heaven in peace. And I was restless. I killed so many people the same way he'd killed you: a revolver shot to the head, point-blank. Then I went to his prison and killed him, taking all the guards with him. The government put me on a wanted list. I was constantly being shot at."

"What happened?"

"I had gone insane, Cindy. You were gone...I literally had nothing to live for. And one day, I had enough. I climbed to the top of the Golden Gate Bridge, tied cinderblocks to my feet, and jumped. The blocks sunk, and I drowned at the bottom of the San Francisco harbor."

"But why?"

"I...you were gone, and I had nothing anymore."

"Then why did you get yourself killed?"

"I'm not dead. I'm in stasis. Cindy, please, think about it. I'm not dead unless my body dies. And even then, if I'm in your mind, I'm still alive with you until you die. But I wouldn't put that pressure on you. There's nothing that can be done."

"Don't say that!"

He looked pained. "Cindy, I don't want it to be this way either, but there's nothing left to do. I'm going to die, and you're going to be happily married with three beautiful children this way. Libby and Sheen will have two kids, and Carl will be married and happy with his own family of four."

"But...who would I marry, and what about you?"

"I die. You...do something a little drastic. You...married Priscilla."

"I married _her?_"

"You were so stunned from my death that you marry her to help cope. You were happy lesbians together and adopted three beautiful children."

"Jimmy..._this can't be right!_"

"Why not? I saw the future as it would have been, and now as it will be. All that's left now is for me to go back to my body and let time do the talking."

"I refuse to let you."

"It's my mind and my body. Why can't I just go?"

"Because I need you."

He paused, giving her an uncertain look.

"Jimmy...please..."

She broke down into tears again. "I'm falling apart, Jimmy. I haven't cried this much since I was a little girl. I don't want there to be any hurt anymore, Jimmy. I just want _you_, alive and well and happy with me. I want you with me, Jimmy. I...I love you."

She fell to her knees and sobbed, holding herself. A warm trickle of the cloudy blankness stroked her hair, and his face was in front of hers. "Cindy...look at me."

She looked up and saw the sad but determined face he wore. "I will stay here with you for as long as you want."

"But...what about the body?"

"It is not easy to repair a brain that has been so badly damaged. If the bullet got out and it healed and the chip worked again, I would still only be a vegetable."

"What about...stem cells?"

He thought for a minute, the cloudy warmth pausing on top of her head. "That's interesting..."

His image began to fade, and the door seemed to stretch away from her slowly. "What's happening?"

"You're waking up, or else migrating to another dream," he replied simply. She cried out.

"No! I want to stay with you!"

"Cindy, I'm right here. I told you that."

"But...what can I do to help? I want you back, Jimmy!"

He thought for a moment, the distance growing faster than ever. "Goddard."

He disappeared, and the blackness overtook her for the brief moment she struggled to open her eyes. It was morning. She had a crick in her neck and a pain in her back. Her butt was numb, but she was warm and had a blanket draped over her. She could feel a cold hand twined into the fingers on her left side. She sighed feeling a reassuring warmth in the back of her mind.

_I'm here with you,_ it said.

_Jimmy...what do I do?_

The voice did not respond. Cindy stood and stretched, looking forlornly at Jimmy's body.

"I love you," she whispered. She then kissed his cheek, feeling the coolness of it against her lips. It made her sad, but she steeled her resolve. _No more tears, _she told herself.

She stepped out of the room and nearly ran over the nurse who was coming in with syringes and testing solutions.

"Oh, hello. How is he?"

"He's...doing better, I think..."

The nurse moved to the body and felt its forehead.

"He's really cold. That's not a good sign..."

The nurse looked at the heart monitor. It had dropped to an astonishingly low thirty beats per minute. She sighed and looked at Cindy, tears glimmering in her eyes.

"I'm...so sorry."

"He's alright," Cindy replied shakily. Her grid-iron resolve wasn't so grid-iron. "He...he's where he wants to be."

"Where he was meant to be," the nurse finished. She nodded absently and proceeded to do her tests. The body looked so limp and lifeless that Cindy almost lost hope of reviving it.

_Jimmy...I will save you._

_Goddard._

Her head was starting to hurt from trying to reach him. However, he had given her the name of his dog, and that was enough of a directive for her. She strode briskly from the hospital, face blank, ignoring calls and questions. She exited the hospital straight into a mob of paparazzi and cameras. They all shouted her name, but she ignored them and smashed through the crowd, striding toward the sidewalk, at which point she turned to her right. The media was still following her, a million questions buzzing like flies in her ears. She pulled out her phone and called Priscilla.

"Cindy, where are you? I've been up all night."

"I managed to get some sleep. Listen, pick me up at the doughnut shop on fifth and forty-second."

"I can do that," the speaker replied.

"Thanks."

"Anytime." The line went dead. Cindy strode meaningfully toward the store, the last door on the right. She opened it and moved to the counter.

"Hello, why, you're that lawyer girl, aren't you?"

The man had a British accent, but it wasn't difficult to understand. "Yeah...lots of drama there."

"And...bloody hell, looks like the tabloids got you in a pinch, eh?"

"No. They just annoy me."

"Right, miss. What can I get you?"

"Can I get a coffee, cream and sugar, with a box of six of your finest glazed doughnuts for myself and my friend?"

"Your friend is here too? Well, I don't see anyone but the media."

"She's coming to get me. Actually, make that two coffees."

"Two coffees, spiced up, and a sixpack of glazed, right?"

"Sure."

"That'll be ten Euros, miss."

"That's just fine," she replied, handing him the bills. He looked at her surreptitiously over the cash register.

"You sure you're alright? I heard there was quite a shock in the courthouse yesterday."

"No, I'm alright. Just worried about the client. He was shot, you know."

"Ah, poor bloke. Still, maybe it's not to be helped."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, rumor has it he died defending someone. That's love right there."

He handed her a box full of doughnuts and a styrofoam tray with two cups of hot coffee in it.

"Right...love..."

She heard a loud honk and turned. Sitting in the street at the stoplight was Priscilla in a taxicab.

"Alright, thanks for the food."

"Anytime, mate."

She pushed through the media and into the cab, which promptly sped off toward the airport.

"Where are we off to, Cindy?"

She handed the red-head her coffee. "Airport. We need a ticket back to Austin. I need to get to Retroville as fast as I can."

"Already done. My brother lined up another private jet for us."

"You're so good to me."

The red-head winked. "Anything for you, girl."

_(time lapse)_

Several hours later found the women in the center of Retroville, heading straight toward the Neutron residence. Cindy had managed to sleep during the flight, and the only thing she had gotten from the genius was the same thing he'd given her before: "Goddard."

"What's going on in that head of yours?" Priscilla probed. Cindy sighed.

"I'm trying to talk to Jimmy, but he's...he's unreachable, I guess."

"He said he would be while you were awake, right?"

"Yeah...but he keeps telling me 'Goddard'."

"What the heck is a goddard?"

"Goddard is his robot canine."

"A robo-dog? This I've gotta see."

The blonde pulled her car into her parents' driveway, but didn't bother going inside. She leapt from the vehicle (having changed into a green, summery blouse that matched her eyes and blue capris on the flight) and strode meaningfully toward the lab.

_DNA scan. _

Sure enough, the door was locked, and the glaring red eye of VOX, Jimmy's old computer system, was still present, gazing up at Cindy oddly.

"DNA sample required. Standard defense protocol," she droned tiredly. Cindy sighed.

"VOX, let me in. Jimmy's not here."

_Goddard._

"Error. Voice does not match subject quota. Please try again."

"Ugh, this is stupid! Goddard!"

A loud bark from inside the shack announced his presence, and he opened the door, a large, mechanical hand protruding from his back. Cindy rubbed his head gratefully as he sat down in front of the electric eye. His tongue lolled and he panted happily.

"Goddard, I can't speak your language, but I know you recognize human speech. Jimmy sent me here. He's...he's not well. He's in here," she said, tapping her head. Goddard sniffed the side of her skull and growled.

The hand popped out of his back again and beckoned the girls to follow him. He sprinted down hallways, the doors opening in front of him and closing behind Priscilla in perfect timing and sequence. He led them to a room that Cindy had never seen before, one that had a console by the left wall, a screen mounted to the right wall, and a chair in the center, a colander-like helmet attached to a large, rubber hose and electrical cables suspended over the chair by some springs and a hydraulic arm.

Goddard ran to the console and hopped into a chair. He pressed a button and the screen woke up. On it was a question:

Access mind?

Goddard barked; the hand gestured for Cindy to sit. She perched gently on the steel stool, unsure of what to do. He pushed a button with his nose and the helmet gently descended onto her head, where it then suction-cupped itself to her skull. She could feel the roots of her hairs protesting a bit, but there was no real pain.

"What is that?"

"I'll guess...that Jimmy created a way to talk to secondary consciousnesses within one body.

Goddard nodded, then opened up the panel that his neck was mounted to. A screen glowed behind the panel, and writing appeared:

_Cindy, this will cause you to lose consciousness. Do you wish to proceed?_

She blinked. "Will I die?"

He shook his head.

"Will anything bad happen?"

Again, he shook his head.

"Can Jimmy use the body?"

The screen had to write once again:

_I cannot say. It is unclear exactly how dual-minds work in one single body._

"This machine...is it only built to talk to the minds?"

_Just the one that is the recessive. In this case, my Master's mind._

"But there's no way for me to talk to him too?"

_None that I can foresee. I do not know the particulars about this invention; he never told me much about it._

She sighed. "I just...want him to be okay."

Goddard whined. Cindy gulped.

"I'll do it, Goddard. Priscilla?"

"Yeah?"

"Talk to him for me. Remember everything he says and tell me, no matter what it is. Alright?"

"I'll try. For you. And for him."

Cindy nodded, the helmet flexing above her. "Alright, Goddard. Push the button."

He whined again, but pressed the button with his nose. All of a sudden, Cindy felt as though she were being sucked from her body, and all quickly dripped away to black.

* * *

**_So...now begs the question...of how to fix Jimmy's body. I've got ideas, and I'mma follow them, but no sneakies for you guys. ;) I've gotta tease you a little bit. Maybe if you ask nicely, I'll give you little hints at the end of the Unlucky Chapter, Chapter 13. This should be my favorite to write, since it's my lucky number. XD_**


	13. Weaving Webs and Burning Bridges

**_A/N: Short chapter. I didn't have much to say about this thing. The dreams will be getting more and more frequent, guys, so if you don't like them, I'm sorry. :S_**

**_Anyways, now onto the shout-outs. :)_**

**_Nicole Luna: I don't mind the lack of reviews; I know there are plenty of people out there who have read this and have different opinions they keep to themselves. Everyone's different. As for writing well...I've had a lot of practice. Hooking people is a sort of specialty of mine, even if sometimes I seem scarce on details. Hopefully I can keep you interested to the end; it only gets more exciting from here. As for lesbianism...that depends if I kill Jimmy or not. His life hangs in the balance and it's up to me to decide his fate. However, I'm a 17-year-old boy with a bit of a heart, so he may live. For now. XD_**

**_MimiMimi(): Seven hours straight? Woah, you might want to take a break. Give your eyes some rest or something. That's a lot of reading to do, especially if it's all for this story. As I said before about my writing, I've had a lot of practice. Characterization is difficult with pre-fabricated story characters, but I take what I know about the show and the kids, mix in a little maturity and improv, and hope that I hit the target within a reasonable range. Serafie is not related to Phoenix Wright; the trial itself kinda is, and how she can make stories out of small pieces of nothing. Serafie, actually, is a name I had to create based on the words "sinCERE" and "purITY" because she is a defense attorney and is more truthful than she can help. As for comedy versus tragedy...we will see. Spinoff chapters with Venn and Celeste...That's something that never occurred to me. I will have to give that some thought. But Celeste is dead, and Venn is in jail, so I don't know how I'd go about that one, unless I write about when they were younger. :)_**

**_Thank you all, my readers and reviewers. And now, another chapter for you to enjoy!_**

* * *

Priscilla watched Cindy go limp. Then, the screen glowed white, and lines of coding obstructed the interface. She glanced at Goddard, who seemed to be enthralled in the endless characters and numbers. Finally, the screen cleared. Goddard pushed some buttons on the console and Cindy sat up. She blinked awake, blue irises gazing at her, then at Goddard.

"You have no idea how happy I am to see you two," the body said, a note of glee in its voice. The voice was still Cindy's, but there was no mistaking Jimmy's vocal patterns in a higher pitch. Goddard barked twice in joy.

"Hey boy. Long time no see."

The dog panted happily. Priscilla gazed at the female body of her friend as it channeled Jimmy's mind. It was so bizarre to see her with blue eyes instead of green ones.

"Alright, so, Priscilla, you know what happened. Goddard, I'm technically dead."

The dog tilted its head in confusion.

"I was shot in court just as I was to be pronounced innocent. The body is alive, but the brain is severely damaged. If I return to the body now, in the critical state, I will die."

Goddard whimpered.

"How do we help your body, Jimmy?"

He looked at the red-head. She was chewing her thumb in worry. He sighed.

"I realize that Cindy wants to know what's going on, but...for now, we have to keep her in the dark a bit. I've seen enough of the future just while living in her mind to know that I will tell her what will happen soon enough. She will be very angry, but...it's what I have to do. Promise me, please, that you will help me keep her in the dark for a little while. There are things you can tell her to please her, and I already know what you will have to say, but I'll save that for after."

"Jimmy, how do we help your body?"

"The brain is a complex organ. As a result...there is no true way to repair it."

"What?"

"You see...the only way for me to live is for the brain to be in-tact, and there is no way to do that."

"What about stem-cells and synthetic enzymes?"

"All will fail. The only way to keep me alive is for me to live in another's body, or to rebuild my brain."

"You don't plan on living in Cindy's body forever, do you?"

"No, I don't. This is hers to keep," he said, tugging at her shirt and pulling on her face.

"I have no intention of staying in her body. Meaning that one way or another, I will most likely die."

"But...but you can't! There must be another way!"

He suddenly gained a very dark look on his face. Cindy's body did not look comfortable with such an expression of doubt and pain.

"There are...three ways."

"Well, come on! Out with it!"

"Option number one: Grow a new brain for me in a germination chamber. Option number two: find a feasible way to reconstruct my brain. Option three: replace my brain with that from another."

"Well, what are the pros and cons of each?"

"Option number one is the safest way to go. It ensures an exact replica of my brain and will be able to be easily transferred to the stem in my spinal cord. However...in order to successfully, and purely, grow a new brain for myself, it would take as many years as I am old, 21, plus however many months I was in the womb and however many days old I am now, meaning that if I were to truly generate a second brain for transplant, it would only age as fast as my body, and thus would never be suitable for use. The only way to generate a brain quickly through this process is to utilize the time-space options on the germination chamber, in which the brain would grow in about a week's time. However...that allows a large window for mutation and failure. The brain has a twenty percent chance of mutating, at the very least. And the chance increases with each passing second that new cells are grown and formed.

"Option number two has been all-but ruled out. I don't like the idea of having to rebuild my brain, but it may be what's necessary if we take this door. This requires draining my cranium of the electrical charge it currently has, safely shutting down the neuro-board, and then reconstructing the destroyed portions of the brain. Then, assuming that is a success, a new neuro-board would have to be installed and genetically connected to my mind so that I could bridge back into my body. However, the rate of successfully rebuilding that much of my brain is about thirty percent. Not to mention the possible death of the brain when removing the board. It isn't meant to be broken, let alone removed. That, and unstable electricity that is currently in the brain could kill it if unleashed in the wrong way.

"Option number three...is all but impossible. There is only one brain that I have found so far that could replace mine. And I happen to be inhabiting it right now. This brain has already become accustomed to me, and didn't cease function or reset itself when I tried to bridge the gap. It only gave Cindy a small headache when the EMP pulse went off, and even at that it means a successful connection. However...I cannot allow Cindy to attempt to give me her brain, even if it is the only suitable replacement. I refuse outright to allow her to sacrifice herself for me. She deserves a life, not the life I saved her from."

"So...we can basically either grow your brain and hope it doesn't mutate, or we can rebuild what we have and hope it doesn't die."

"Basically."

"Wait...what did you save Cindy from?"

A pained expression struck the blonde's face. "I...saved her from death.

"In the future I had seen that Venn would have shot her through the skull, scattering her brains against the stands. I couldn't let that happen, so I took the blow. She deserves a life. She's innocent to how complex the world really is."

"So you let yourself die for her sake?"

"It wasn't easy to do, because the time-line said that I had to stay put and stare in horror, but I fought my instinct and the time-line itself and jumped in front of the bullet to save her."

"And...she doesn't know?"

"She knows now. I told her during the night while she was dreaming."

"How?"

"When she is asleep, her brain is like a computer with nothing running, just an operating system. At that point in time, the processors have almost zero information to deal with. My consciousness takes up about ninety percent of her brain's processing power, so communicating with her is only possible when she's either asleep or deeply relaxed, as though in hypnosis."

"Is there any other way for you to talk to her?"

"No. I've researched everything I could, ran through formula after formula, equation after equation, even simplified everything without complications...nothing."

"So...what happens if something goes wrong?"

"Best-case scenario: I end up as a vegetable and use a translator like Stephen Hawking does. Average scenario: I die. Absolute-worst-case-scenario-possible, she dies with me. The worst possible is also the most likely to occur."

"And what's the success rate for either of these plans?"

"About thirty percent or less."

"Jimmy..."

"It's suicidal to do, but I don't want to stay in Cindy's mind. She has her life to live, and I have mine. It's not that I don't appreciate it, it's that she needs a chance to be herself."

"But...she loves you!"

"I realize."

Priscilla slapped him; she had walked over to the blonde's body to converse better.

"Stop being such a science nerd and listen to your heart for once!"

"I can't help it, Priscilla. She...I..." He growled in frustration. "I can't explain it."

"Then don't. Just listen to your heart. You and I both know what the answer is."

"...I'm not so sure anymore, Priscilla."

She smacked him again. "Jimmy, I don't like hitting my best friend's face, even if it's to hit you. So please stop talking out your ass. I _know _you and I have the answer. Say it, Jimmy. Say what you're dying to tell her."

He gazed at the floor for a moment. "I...I love her," he mumbled shakily. Priscilla laid her hand on his shoulder.

"I know that. But does she?"

"Well, I told her-"

"But did you show her?"

"What do you mean?"

"Girls don't believe anything they're told. You have to _show_ her that you mean it."

"How?"

"Give her love."

"But I don't know how!"

"You're a genius. Just...be romantic. Be spontaneous. Catch her by surprise. But don't freak her out, either."

"That sounds challenging."

"You'll be in that head for a week at least. That should give you time to think.

"Now, about the brain...We need to try both plans, and multiple tries for each plan. How can we test if the brain will work or not?"

"We won't know until a new neuro-board is inserted and connected to the new brain."

"Will the neuro-board tell us?"

"If it's connected to an amplifier, and the current is transferred through a line of coding to test the charge...then we can identify if it'll work."

"Ah. Do you have said parts?"

"I do. Goddard, begin list."

The dog barked and his left eye started flickering.

"The amplifier is in the C-27 cubbyhole in the main part of my lab. The coding line is already programmed into Goddard. Board number seven-six-seven-eight-D will give you the right read-out. A new neuro-board can be found in the highest cubbyhole in the center of the main room. I don't like leaving them out, so you may have to defeat the security system. Goddard can project my DNA into the small eye next to the cubbyhole.

"Plan one requires a germination chamber, and I have three. Set one for one week, one for ten days, and one for a month. One week is the soonest I would chance a viable brain. Plan two requires brain tissue...meaning that one way or another, you'll have to get ahold of my stem-cells. Goddard has those, too. He can help you generate the germination samples, all in exact quantities and perfect blends. He will have to make four, three that will work toward plan one, and one that will merely become neural stem-cells. He has a sample of my brain tissue along with a sample of stem-cells. The actual operations...I'll have to be present, meaning that a Neuralink will need to be present."

"And what is that?"

"Goddard knows. That's all up in the guarded cubbyhole. Goddard, end list."

The dog barked and printed out the list of instructions. Priscilla reached out and snapped it up to read it.

"And this is all that we can do?"

"It's all we have."

Suddenly, Cindy's left eye shut. Priscilla raised an eyebrow. "Jimmy? You alright?"

"Ah...the link...I've been here too long. Her body is starting to revolt against me being here. It thinks I'm an illness right now since she's not in charge. I...Goddard, terminate link. Terminate now."

The dog jumped on the button, and the body fell limp again, suspended by only the helmet and rubber hose attached to it. The screen went black and the dog barked worriedly.

"What's wrong?"

_Master was right...he was here too long. If he stays in control of the body for too long, the body begins to deteriorate._

"What happens to her?"

_She will be fine for now, but if Master were to command the body for an extended period of time, a time-span of more than a couple hours, the brain would overheat and boil from the strain. It's like a powerful computer without a cooling system._

"So...she could die?"

_From a ten-minute encounter on an untrained mind, she may be a little disoriented for a time. She won't die. If Master stayed for an hour, she would probably have some brain damage._

"But..."

Cindy stirred, moaning in pain as she woke up. "My head..."

"Cindy, you alright?" Priscilla asked, hoisting the blonde up by the armpits. The helmet released its suction and she stood shakily on her own feet.

"What...what did he say?"

"We...have to grow him a new brain. The old one won't work, not without repair. We're willing to try to fix it first, but we're going to grow three new brains for him, just in case."

"How...?"

"Sit down, Cindy. I'll explain everything once you're seated and awake."

_(time lapse)_

"So, we have to let these samples germinate?"

"Basically. They will grow and mature in these three machines, one in a week, one in ten days, and one in a month."

"Why such difference in numbers?"

"He said that one week was the minimum that he was willing to try and one month was the longest he would spend in your mind. He doesn't like the idea of overwhelming you."

"Oh, I'm not overwhelmed. Really, I'm fine," she said, swaying slightly.

"Don't overdo it, Cindy. We don't need you going down too."

"I want to help in any way that I can."

"Then you keep that brain of yours safe. We can't lose Jimmy, but we can't lose you either."

She sighed. "You're telling me." She scrubbed groggily at her face with her hands.

"Need some sleep?"

"A bit..." she closed her eyes and wobbled. Goddard scooped her up with a chair that protruded from his back. He barked.

_I'll settle her on the couch. Master used to sleep there often; it should comfort her._

Priscilla nodded and watched the dog carry her friend away, passed out as she was. _Poor Cindy..._

Goddard laid her down on the couch and covered her with a blanket. He left the room, dimming the lights. Cindy, however, wasn't in a calm state.

"Jimmy?"

It felt as though something poked her. There was the giant orb of white again, with his face floating before her. He smiled at her sadly.

"I'm sorry. I'm a bit much for your body and mind to handle for so long."

"I was only gone for less than ten minutes."

"But you aren't used to the transfer of consciousness to another entity."

"Even so. How...how are you?"

"I'm alright. The body is stable, but brain-dead. The monitors are all saying I'm in a comatose with little brain activity, but that means nothing."

"But...will it live?"

"Only if they keep it on life-support."

"How long will they do that?"

"One month. If there is no request for further time, and no mental activity, they pull the plug and let the shell die. The brain has essentially turned off anyways."

"Jimmy...you could die."

"My body, yes. My mind won't as long as there is a brain capable of housing it."

"But...Jimmy...I can't lose you!"

He closed his eyes. Cindy blinked and was suddenly standing in the middle of a dark, moonlit knoll. Lush grass tickled her legs, and she realized she was still in her clothes from earlier that day. The orb, however, was gone.

"Jimmy?"

She looked around. The only thing that stood out was a lone tree perched on a hill, its big, leafy branches creating a sort of canopic overhang overtop the hill's crest. Cindy slowly made her way to the tree, a light breeze tickling her body. It felt so calming and yet so chilling at the same time. She gazed up at the moon; it seemed very large and beautiful overtop the dark moor.

She reached the tree and touched the bark. Oddly, it wasn't a rough bark, it was soft. It felt a lot like rabbit's fur, and Cindy couldn't help but hug the tree. It was warm, too. To her, it felt like comfort and hope in a box.

She received a small, gentle poke on the shoulder. She turned to see Jimmy standing under the tree, arms dangling at his sides, totally relaxed. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt and blue jeans that seemed to sparkle in the moonlight.

"Jimmy?"

"I thought you might like something more personal than a dark room and a big white ball, so...I created this for you."

"For me?"

"Yeah. It has a beach and grass and some trees further away, a large waterfall, a river, cliffs, mountains, valleys...it's everything I could think to add that you might enjoy that would keep you serene and sane, except that we're on an island in your mind."

"An island?"

"Imagine that the island is in the center of a box. If you try and breach the box by going too high or too far by the water's edge, you will fall out of the box and back into the void with my consciousness."

"So...this is a mental projection?"

"Yes. I...tried to create something that would be pleasing to you."

"What about sunshine? And clothes?"

The moon shrunk by several sizes and a warming, comforting sun replaced it, the heat and the breeze creating a perfect balance in the atmosphere. Cindy sighed and sat at the base of the tree.

"Anything that you need, you can ask for. Since this is all based in my consciousness, and it responds to you alone at this point in time, you can ask it for anything and it will give it."

"Can it bring your body back?"

"Unfortunately...things that happen in here don't reflect in the real world. I'm perfectly happy here, and I'm intact, but out there...it's not within my power to grasp hold of the universal consciousness and ask it for what I want."

"Wait...the universe has a consciousness?"

"Yes. It is not just some ever-expanding space, it is the _ideal _space. In the universal mind, there is a universal consciousness, and that is where we exist. It decides what is real and what is not."

"But how can we constantly be living when it sleeps and wakes?"

"The same way I am able to live within your mind: my consciousness projected this image that I have been creating all day. I'm still not done with it; I have yet to add animals and more foliage. This is actually supposed to be a flower field."

"That didn't answer the question."

"Sorry. Basically, no matter where your consciousness is, it is always connected to the inside world and the outside world. We are the inside of the universe's consciousness. We are probably some dream he has been having for quite some time, and that his mind has been thinking about for a long time."

"How do you know the gender?"

"Males tend to be more rooted in numbers and facts. Females are more rooted in emotions and ideas. I can only guess that it is a male mind that we are within since there is much hurt, much violence, much surrender, even as we try and create a better world for our children. Everything has been able to be defined by an equation."

"Then that means that it is possible to bring your body back by a similar equation!"

"It doesn't work that way. You have to derive an equation first. It would depend on cell growth versus mutation rate. Cindy...there is no sure-fire way of rebuilding my brain except let it grow on its own, and even then it would be twenty-one years younger than myself."

"Jimmy. I don't care how long it takes. I will help you in any way that I can."

"Why? Why do you care so much to sacrifice part of your mind for me?"

"Because it's _you_. I wasn't joking when I said what I did."

He sensed mild discomfort at the mention of the three words. "I...I know."

"You do?"

"It's part of the reason why I created this place. It...it's all for you. A playground created on a whim. You can come here and forget about what's going on out there and just enjoy your time here."

"Jimmy..."

He embraced her, feeling her smaller frame against his body. She could feel the warmth of his body against hers.

"Every day in here could be another adventure. Like when we were kids," she whispered.

"We never truly lose our childhood within us. It just...becomes obscured by society. We get told what is right and wrong."

"And what is right or wrong in here?"

"Whatever you wish to be, will be. Whatever you do not, will not. This is your playground within my mind. It is completely at your mercy, and at your beck and call."

"If I said that I wanted to keep you forever," she whispered, quivering slightly, "would it happen?"

"If...well..." He paused, sighed, and then tilted her chin up to look him in the eyes. "Yes. It does."

She looped her arms around his neck and touched her nose to his, closing her eyes. "Jimmy...I love you."

Her lips met his and she was flooded with images and words. It was incomprehensible to her, but she didn't care. She was with Jimmy, and she was kissing him, and it felt so right to her that she paid no attention to anything else. She pulled tighter to his body, a small ache forming in the pit of her stomach. He held her tight to his body. She shuddered. It felt so _right_.

He parted their kiss and rested his chin gently on the top of her head. She rubbed his back, up and down his spine, trying to figure out what he was thinking. He was as silent as ever.

"Jimmy, what's wrong?"

He chuckled. "I wish every day could be like this."

"What do you mean?"

"Just you and I, together, with nobody else around."

"What about our friends?"

He shrugged. "I...don't think they'd like it here is all."

She could feel almost feel the truth niggling at his mind, trying to be free, but he wouldn't open up and let it go. She clung to him tighter.

"Jimmy...I want to get lost in here."

He sighed. The sunshine flickered a bit.

"I think your mind has other priorities, like waking up."

"What? But I can't wake up! I haven't been here long enough!"

"You can train yourself to stay within dreams longer. It just takes practice. Your mind has to focus entirely on what is going on inside rather than what it feels outside."

The world was beginning to drain into a cesspool of color. She tried holding him tight, but he was draining away with the rest of the world.

"Be strong for me, Cindy. You can do this. I know you can."

Blackness overtook them, and Cindy found herself alone. She opened her eyes and discovered that she was on Jimmy's couch with a blanket draped over her body. When she remembered that Jimmy was only a figment of her imagination at present time, she felt her chest constrict, and a single tear fell from her face to the floor.

"Jimmy...I miss you so much..."

* * *

**_I didn't want to end it on a sad note, but I saw no other way of getting this story to move on. I'm forewarning you people: one of my chapters will involve them having sex. I don't know yet if it's mentally or physically (probably mentally), but they will get into it, and I have absolutely no problem with describing every sensation that hits their bodies. I will be sure to put a discretional note at the beginning of said chapter (and it will probably be either Chapter 16 or 17, I guess) so that if you don't wish to read about them together, you can hit the ctrl+F and find some long keyword that I'll put in. Just a forewarning; it's rated M for cursing and sexual content thusfar; I see no legitimate way to include gore into the setting. So yes, it is a legitimate M-rating. :)_**

**_Anyways, I hope to update again either later on today or tomorrow. It depends on how much work I have to do today and how quickly I can write for you guys. Happy reading! :)_**


	14. Nightmares and Dreamscapes

**_A/N: I had a whim, and I went with it. This is the first story I've read regarding shared consciousnesses, and I believe it should be an entertaining notion for you scifi junkies like me. :)_**

**_Shoutout to DiceRox09: After a long time without any direct reviews, and much thought about your questions, all of which I am very pleased that you brought up (it means I can tie up loose ends as I go), here's my reply. He assumes that he will die all over because there is a very strong possibility that he will. Jimmy is not satisfied with anything that is not at least 87% or better in his books. As I may have explained in the following chapter, the neuro-board is the gateway to Jimmy's brain. If he can't locate and connect to the neuro-board as a consciousness, he remains trapped within Cindy's brain forever. While the bullet through the neuro-board did indeed damage his brain, it is a blessing and a curse in a few ways. It is a blessing for preventing the bullet from destroying every bit of Jimmy's mind, but it is a curse for unleashing electricity upon the neurons, electricity that is non-lethal until exposed to the atmosphere. It is also a blessing because it enables Jimmy to move to Cindy's mind, but it is a curse since it will have to be carefully extricated and replaced during the surgery to ensure that he returns to his own body. As for keeping Cindy in the dark...He recognizes how much she cares for him, and for him to suggest that he may die, for him to destroy her optimism, would be the end of her. She could go senile. Not to mention that he might also run the risk of taking her with him to death's door. His love for her is probably a tragic flaw: in trying to save her from the truth, he may end up condemning her to insanity or death. I'm glad you liked the dream scene, and I've followed with another. :)_**

**_As for the rest of you, I'm considering writing something for the Hannah Montana category, so if you receive an email or two about something under that category of fanfiction, you can't say you weren't warned. Anyways, enjoy reading! :)_**

* * *

Three days passed, and not once did Cindy leave the lab. She had to send Priscilla inside to talk with the Neutrons about what had happened to their son. According to Priscilla, they already knew that something had happened when he had rushed away so quickly, but never knew that he was nearly dead. They had left Friday night, twenty-four hours after the germination had begun. Cindy stayed glued to a chair, staring at the brains. She had only moved to use the restroom and shower; she wore the same pair of light-blue silk pajama pants and button-up silk pajama top for the entire duration she'd been there, but the insta-clean machine always ensured that her clothing was clean and fresh for the next day. Even the color was retained. The only thing that had Cindy down was Jimmy.

She hadn't managed to get in touch with him for the entire three days she'd been staring at the machines. Even with bags under her eyes and no motivation to move, despite Priscilla and Goddard attempting to get her outside for even five minutes, she could only sleep a little, and was not sleeping deep enough to reach him. She'd seen the island again the night before, but as she approached the fourth night, it really was all beginning to seem like a dream. He hadn't even reached out to contact her, and even though she was bored out of her mind, she saw no alternative but to brood over the growing brains. The first one was already about the size of an apple. Another couple days would boost it to its proper size, but according to Priscilla, Jimmy had specifically said to let it stay in the chamber for a week. The second, nearing the half-way point of its gestation, was only about the size of a golf ball. The third was the most unimpressive: it was still a thin sheet, about as big as a fingernail, thick as a piece of paper. The wait was very tedious and tiring, but it had to be done to try and bring Jimmy back.

In another beaker nearby, suspended over a growth serum, was a sample of stem-cells that were mixed with a sample of Jimmy's brain-cells, ones that did not harm him when removed. They could be used to replace any part of the brain as needed, and they were the first test that would be conducted in restoring Jimmy's consciousness. Cindy bit her lip, then her fingernail. It seemed hopeless, but she had to hold on. She firmly believed that Jimmy would find some way to live, even if he wasn't at one-hundred percent for the rest of his life. He would push through, and she would be right beside him, helping him all the way. It made her heart hurt to think that he might have to wait a month before being able to actually hug her, feel her, tease her, teach her. She tugged on her blonde locks. It was so frustrating having to wait, even for a week.

The aperture behind the girl opened, and in wafted a smell that perked the blonde up immensely. A hand reached around the chair and held a bowl of fresh chicken noodle soup, homemade by the girl holding it. She wore a ridiculous white apron and had the trademark toque atop her head, the frills and poofs giving her a very cartoonish appearance. Cindy grasped the bowl and the spoon and looked up at the beaming red-head standing over her.

"Eat up. You look famished."

True, Cindy was hungry. However, she didn't have an appetite to motivate her. The bowl steamed in her hands as she looked up, into the sparkling eyes of the chef above her.

"You're too nice to me."

"Hey, you're my best friend. I _have _to be nice to you."

"You don't have to...Even L-"

She stopped. Her eyes widened. _Oh my God...they don't know!_

She blinked twice. Priscilla gazed at her worriedly.

"Something the matter?"

"Our friends don't know..."

"What?"

"Carl. Sheen. Libby. They saw Jimmy get shot, but they don't know where he is or how he's doing...oh, God..."

"Eat, honey. You need some nourishment. I'll bring you the phone when you're done, and not a moment before."

Cindy would have stood and marched for the phone, had she any muscle control. The only thing she could do was hold the bowl of soup and look up at the defense attorney, dressed in a goofy outfit, smiling at her warmly. Her heart melted.

"You take such good care of me."

"Yeah, I do." The red-head crouched closer. "If it weren't for Jimmy," she continued, a note of jealousy in her voice, "I'd have you all to myself."

A light peck met Cindy's lips and she giggled. "All that fun we had in the dorm..."

"Leave those memories as memories, Cindy. Eat up. I'll get your phone."

And with that, the red-head left, her cheeks a bit pink. Cindy felt warmed inside. She only felt better as she devoured the soup with a sudden, ravenous hunger. The empty bowl clinked when it met the spoon and Cindy set it on the floor beside her, gazing at the brains in front of her. They looked disgusting, and yet intriguing. She had never dreamed that she'd see an actual human brain alive and well before her person, and yet she was gazing at three of them as they grew, rapidly, right before her eyes. She was fascinated and disturbed.

Her eyes drooped. _Sleepy? Now?_ They closed. _Maybe...maybe I'll see Jimmy again..._

Her eyes fell shut relaxedly and she leaned back in the chair, settling down, down, down...

She opened her eyes and found herself on a large, sandy moor. There were footprints leading across a large field of dunes, and they looked like they were Jimmy's. She began following the footsteps, following them across the sand and over hills and down valleys. She finally came upon the figure of a genius, floating in the middle of the air in the center of a large, sandy bowl, toes pointed down, arms held straight out like a giant T, hair swirling in a spiraling twist of chaos as an orb composed of blue energy and air floated around him. Cindy gazed at his face, which was hard to make out in the sunlight. It appeared that he was asleep.

"Jimmy!" she called.

The orb blasted outward like a gigantic shield, a wall of raw energy, slamming into the edges of the sand bowl and the open air just beyond. Cindy felt the crackle of heat and the sheer cold of ice rattle her insides at once as a loud but dull thump accompanied the blast. The shockwave dissipated and Jimmy fell to the sand, disappearing through it. And suddenly, Cindy felt gravity change, and she flipped through the sand and up, up through endless water-

She surfaced just off the coast of the island, treading the salt-water very calmly, her wet hair clinging to her back and neck. She swam gently toward the shore and climbed out of the water, the air instantly drying her body. She then felt the breeze caressing her more insistently than she remembered from three days ago. It was calming, but it seemed to fondle her and tease her, almost laughing as it ran past her. But that didn't seem right. Wind couldn't tease a person, could it?

She shook the ludicrous thoughts from her mind and made her way back to the grassy knoll. It had been reanimated and looked as though it had marigolds and roses and periwinkles and flower after flower of different color and breed. She didn't know which one she liked most; they were all so intoxicating. She inhaled deeply.

A something brushed her leg. It was warm and furry. She looked down and shrieked. For the face that gazed back up at her was that of a leopard. It had gorgeous black and brown spots on its tan-colored fur, the strands moving with the breeze. Its golden eyes gazed at Cindy innocently, ears perked up to all noises. Its tail twitched, brushing her hand. It looped around her wrist and twitched the other way, gently drawing her toward it. It laid down in the field, powerful legs curling beneath it patiently. Cindy wondered what was going on.

The tail pointed at her and then pointed at its back. Cindy raised an eyebrow.

"Sit on you? Won't that break your back?"

The tail wagged tauntingly back and forth and the leopard shook its head. Cindy sat gently on the feline and it stood beneath her. Its fur was silky-soft and looked incredibly, almost unrealistically clean. The cat trotted through the field, heading for the forest. The lone tree leaned over the top of its hill to her right; she gazed at it forlornly, wishing she could go back there with Jimmy. However, the instant the cat plunged into the tightly-packed thicket of trees, the hill was lost from sight. The cat navigated with an expert placement of paws and direction through the thickest part of the forest. After the first half-mile, the tree trunks grew thicker, but they spaced out significantly, blocking out almost all sense of light and direction. Even the sun couldn't break through the dense canopy of leaves above them.

"Are you taking me to Jimmy?"

The leopard glanced over its shoulder, seemingly grinning at Cindy; one of its razor-sharp fangs protruded, appearing to be about two inches in length at minimum. Cindy felt a shiver run down her spine at the stare and the smile. It was unnerving.

The cat looked away and kept a steady, lithe pace through the trees. They seemed to be sloping uphill. The ground gradually fell to less grass and more rock, eventually turning into a craggy mountain that lost tree density for height. Cindy leaned forward and wrapped her arms around the cat's neck only to discover that it was purring. _Can leopards purr?_

She watched the claws extend from inside its very furry paws. They were like sabers, clinging easily and surely to the rock as the crag grew to be vertical, the rock slippery and damp like slate. The leopard scaled the wall like a spider, stretching its limbs wide to grab any amount of grip possible. The cat continued to purr, never once breaking stride nor losing footing. It easily alighted the top of the gigantic rock, reaching a plateau about three-quarters of the way up the mountain. It laid down, purring still, and Cindy dismounted, standing on shaky knees. She looked back over the edge of the cliff again and gulped. It was at least two hundred feet straight down, and that didn't even include the steep craggy body below that rolled several more hundred feet into the forest. She felt weak and breathless; despite the lethal drop below, the view was absolutely astounding. The waterfall Jimmy had mentioned was a few miles further north of where the leopard had diverted from. There was a beautiful lake beneath it with gorgeous rock formations that sparkled in the sunlight. The trees were all tall, green, and very healthy. Animals frolicked here and there, never lonely, never angry. On the opposite side of the island, there seemed to be a rise in the beach where rocky cliffs grew from the sand. Behind her was water; the mountain of crag seemed to be just a large rock formation. The beaches were all clean, with no gulls, pelicans, or ducks to be found; the water was an aqua green in the ocean from the salt, clear down to the bottom, where rocks and coral reefs gathered. Fish of many colors swam through their homes, living gleefully. The sound of frogs from the lake in the crystal blue water met her ears faintly. It was literally paradise, better than the island she had gotten stuck on with Jimmy when they were younger. She suddenly longed for those days.

The leopard looped its tail around her wrist and gently coaxed her from the spectacular view and toward an opening in the rock. It led her forward and nudged her toward the fissure.

"Alright, alright, I'm going."

It was a small aperture; she had to sit and scoot forward to get through. The ground sloped steeply away behind the hole, and Cindy screamed as she slid down a very slippery, but very smooth slide made of rock. And as suddenly as the slide had begun, it ended, and she landed on a bed made of sand. This sand was not like the beach sand; the beach sand was finely-ground rock. The sand in the room was powder, soft and sensitive to the skin. Cindy stood and walked around the room, gazing at the stalactites dangling from the ceiling. They were all pointed, but they all had shiny, colorful composure, the rock leaving glittering spots over the room very peacefully. It seemed as though Cindy had landed in a room intended for comfortable sleeping, as the atmosphere was very comfortable and seemed to encourage drowsiness.

Loud purring came from behind her. She turned to see the leopard laying in the middle of the sand, relaxing on its belly, gazing calmly at Cindy. It seemed to be grinning at her once again.

"You're a very lovable kitty," she said. The cat blinked slowly, thanking her.

"You know Jimmy, don't you?"

The cat nodded slowly, not breaking its gaze. The allure in its golden eyes was almost overpowering; Cindy wanted to get lost in the beauty of the orbs.

"Where...where is he?"

The cat laid down, still gazing at her. Even though it was a large cat and kept flexing its claws at irregular intervals, Cindy decided that it was a very pleasant cat, a very happy cat, one that would never hurt her. She had no idea why she thought this, but she believed with all her heart that she was safe with the silky-furred feline.

"Can you lead me to Jimmy?"

The cat sighed, still gazing up at Cindy. She blinked.

"Do I have to lay down next to you?"

The cat winked.

"I'll take that as a yes..."

She slid up next to the cat and cuddled alongside it. It was so warm and furry, and it had such a reassuring and calming purr. Cindy felt that nothing would ever go wrong as long as this cat was beside her.

She closed her eyes and pressed her face against the cat's fur almost impulsively. She felt a great rush of wind and looked around. The floor was no longer sandy, it was made of a spongy plant that felt like carpet. There was light entering from the walls, though there were no windows. And behind her, that she could just make out over her shoulder, was a hammock stretched between the walls, and a single leg dangled from within the leafy bed, and that leg belonged to whom she'd been searching for.

"Jimmy!" she cried, rolling away from the cat. She happily jumped into the hammock on top of him, which woke him up.

"Oh. Hey. I was just dozing," he mumbled, yawning. "How long has it been?"

"Three days."

"Wow. I haven't done much lately, then."

"So, what was the sand thing?"

"The what?"

"You were surrounded by a forcefield of blue energy and then you dropped through the sand and we ended up here."

"Ah. You must have seen my mind as it worked. Perhaps you managed to get a small ways into my consciousness by mistake."

"Mistake?"

"I don't know much about how joined minds work, but I can hazard a guess that you entered my consciousness unintentionally when you first tried searching for the island. The only thing you knew to look for was my mind, and thus you could only use my mind to find this place."

"Hmm...who's the cat?"

"Cat?"

He glanced over the edge of the hammock and gasped. "Samantha! You're back!"

"Samantha?"

He rolled out of the leafy enclosure and crawled toward the cat, who laid purring happily on the floor. He scratched her under the chin, which she seemed to relish; she looked as though she was having a particularly annoying itch scratched.

"Did you bring Cindy here all by yourself? You're such a good leopard, yes you are..."

"You don't even act this way with Goddard."

"I used to. Every day. But...Goddard and I have grown a bit more independent of each other now. We just check in on each other now and again to make sure the other is still there, but we're not very close like we used to be."

"Jimmy...that dog means the world to you."

"Not anymore."

"What?"

"He used to be everything I had. He used to be everything I needed, everything I wanted. Then I hit my high-school years and matured a little more, and...he just backed off. He's still there when I need and want him, but for the most part, he's just the family dog now. We don't do anything crazy anymore."

"I think that dying is a little crazy, don't you?"

"Well...he wasn't there to take the bullet for me, so..."

"Hey! Maybe we could go backward and have him do it!"

"No."

"Why?"

"I won't sacrifice him for my error."

"Your error?"

"I never should have gotten involved with Venn Riege."

"What?"

"I...I'll explain later. Next time. For now...I have other things that you might need to know. About the surgery. About me."

"Such as?"

"The neuro-board. I have to have a new one implanted in the body to replace the old one. It's the only way I can get back into my own mind. However, the link between the old neuro-board and the old brain needs to be severed. Hopefully, Goddard will aid you in that. He should, assuming the request is from me. It has to be done delicately to avoid brain damage; any wrong moves or miscalculations could lead to the death of my body. It is in a critical state at the moment."

"Noted. Next?"

"Well...that was mainly it. You just need to know that the neuro-board is my gateway to other minds."

"You can enter other minds?"

"I've been doing it since I was eighteen. Usually it was just random people, casual passersby as they happened to be crossing paths with me. Then it started getting more involved; I would begin to hack my professors' brains. Finally, it got so bad that I began to worm into Celeste's brain. I've even been through Priscilla's on three different occasions, and the detective's twice."

"But...what about me? What about Carl, Sheen, Libby?"

"Holy shit...I forgot...they don't know what happened."

He suddenly looked very upset. Cindy wrapped her arm around his shoulder, tickling the cat with her fingers. The feline laid down away from the touch, purring ever louder.

"Jimmy, don't worry about it. When I wake up, I'll tell them."

He sighed. "I...thanks, Cindy."

She gave him a peck on the cheek. "It's no big deal, Jimmy."

Both of them silently agreed that it was indeed a big deal, but took the comfort as it was handed out. He seemed so lonely to her, so lost in his own train of thought. She wondered how he was able to stand being stuck inside her mind for so long.

"Cindy...maybe you need to go."

"What? Why?"

"Because...I have some things I need to discuss with Samantha."

"She talks?"

"Only to me. I...gave her a bit of a flaw in my own mind that she was unable to talk to those who weren't the creator."

"And what if I created something?"

"Impossible. The creator of the world rules the world and the rules that govern it. You didn't create the world, so it would be an impossibility for you to create within it."

"Couldn't I simply create my own world?"

"Probably not. It takes a focused mind to do so, and often, when dreaming, our minds tend to wander between what has been occurring during our lives and what we fear, hope for, and love."

"Twisted rules they've got..."

"I didn't make them. I only follow them. The universe's consciousness is something that I cannot override unless I speak directly to it, and to do that...would be suicide."

"How so?"

"The amount of energy my mind would have to expend to send the universe's consciousness a message, the same way I've sent you words and pictures in the past, would be an astronomical impossibility. There aren't enough people on the planet to pull energy from. There isn't enough energy in the _galaxy _to reach it, let alone have a full-length communication with understanding and depth."

"Who says it isn't possible?"

"It's like trying to find the edge of the universe. You'd run out of sanity and body before you got out of the galaxy, and then you'd have to know which direction to go from there. It's like a blood-cell trying to get from the tree on the hill all the way to the waterfall. There's no way for it to do so."

"What about a tesseract?"

"A what?"

"A tesseract. Bending the world so that you cross a large distance in a very short amount of time."

"Again, energy."

"Energy is spontaneity, Jimmy. Be positive. Believe. I think it's possible."

"Tell you what, then, Cindy. If you can bring me back with no complications, I will see if I can develop an equation to permit a tesseract that will allow us to cross any distance at any time for any reason with little to no energy usage. Alright?"

"Deal," she replied confidently, shaking his hand. He smiled at her.

"That's the Cindy I remember from three years ago. Never a dull moment. Never afraid of herself."

"Never with a more important goal to achieve."

"Don't pressure yourself. Don't stress, either. Whatever happens is whatever happens. I've altered the future enough as it is."

Cindy looked at him sideways, one eyebrow cocked. "What does _that _mean?"

"It means that the future that I skewed the time-space continuum toward is what it will be, and everything will be alright."

"Jimmy...you're not being clear at all."

"I realize."

She growled. "Jimmy, what are you hiding?"

"I have nothing to hide, Cindy."

She could tell that his expression was carefully guarded. She scowled.

"Jimmy."

"Yes?"

"What are you hiding?"

"I'm not hiding anything."

"Yes you are."

"I am not."

"Damn it, Jimmy!"

The floor quivered. Samantha's tail twitched haphazardly.

"Tell me!"

"I have nothing to say."

She slapped him. The crag rocked treacherously.

"Whoa! Hey, what's with the earthquake?"

"You're literally slapping my consciousness. When you upset the balance in my mind, the world fluctuates in and out of existence in your mind. Anger, contempt, and violence only serve to distort my stream of consciousness and thus distort the world. Too much will upend the world entirely, meaning no more island. Please, Cindy. Trust me on this. I have nothing I am hiding from you. There is nothing for me to say."

She sighed and hung her head. "I'm...sorry..." she mumbled.

"Don't be. Just relax and enjoy yourself a little. This place was built for you."

"But you live in it."

"Not exactly. I only created it. I live wherever I desire to live. This is basically a map from a video-game, just saved data in my mind. I can literally go wherever I want to within my own consciousness. It's like a never-ending dream."

"But you have to eat and sleep and do normal human things once in a while, right?"

"Not if I choose not to. A dream doesn't have to involve human necessities. Even Samantha. I made her on the first day of incubation. She hasn't had a single bite to eat, and I've made her as gentle as a daisy. She'll never hurt you."

"And I don't want to hurt her."

"You can't. Hurting her would only disrupt my stream of consciousness. In fact...I'm basically not even here."

"What?"

"You're interacting with an image you've projected. This is the image of me that you wish to interact with. All you're really talking to is a thought of mine, since you're inside my consciousness. Don't get me wrong: I am indeed here, and I am responding to everything that you say. But in my own mind, I don't have a defined form, nor a defined location. I'm actually here, in the desert, writing the formula, and making other worlds as we speak. The only thing that tells you it's me is your own mind, your own consciousness and ability to dream. You see me as you remember me, and as you hope for me to be."

Indeed, now that she looked at him, he had not a hair out of place, not a mark of dirt or grime on his clothing. He was healthy and clean and even smelled fresh, like he'd bathed in warm water with an infusion of chocolate. She was consumed with the image her mind had created for him. He grinned.

"I probably don't look quite the way I do in reality, but it's your mind that does the placement, your mind doing the talking. Since I'm just a thought, I have no defined physical appearance. If you concentrated hard enough, you could see me as a gecko, or as Carl or Sheen. And if you didn't know me, I'd probably appear as a wispy white haze with a tendril of white smoke looping lazily about. Thoughts are impulsive, creative, and attractive. They are ideas of a person's existence and mentality. The way you see me does not reflect the way I see myself or how I see you."

"But if I see you for what I believe, does that mean that you see me as you believe?"

"No. It is your mind, and your mind has a very acute sense of what your body looks like and how it moves and reacts. I see you the way you are; you see me as though I'm a dream."

"What about Samantha?"

"To you, I'm sure she's a gorgeous animal. To me, it looks like a three-dimensional computer rendered wire-frame of her body with texture for spots and fur placed along her body. I see her as though she is from a computer game; you see her as though she is reality. Your brain takes what I see and modifies it to appear as it should, as it would if it were real. The mind is an amazing tool with unthinkable power. The only thing it can't do is merge with another. Not truthfully."

"I thought I was merged with you, though?"

"Well...I'm contained within your brain. But I'm like a program, and I'm constantly running in the background, even when you're away. The only time I come into existence is when you can focus on me. However, our minds are not merged. Not truthfully, at least. You're basically looking through the files in my consciousness and interpreting them as your mind sees fit to categorize and allocate them. To my consciousness, you're an intruder, like a computer virus. But my consciousness, like almost all other consciousnesses, does not have an 'anti-virus' software that will eliminate intruders. Indeed, I can put up safeguards and pitfalls to deter and eject the invading mind. But I won't do that because your mind is a welcome mind, a 'familiar stranger'."

"Who else would know about this joined consciousness thing?"

"Well...I can't say for certain...there's really no evidence to prove that any of this is even happening, other than your word and mine, and we could just as easily say that it did as we could that it didn't. It's a game of 'he-said-she-said' and it's not openly accepted in the scientific community. I don't think that I personally know any minds that have conceived this idea, but I know there are at least six other people on the face of the earth who have experimented and tested this theory of brain-sharing and mutual consciousness."

"How do you know that there are six or more?"

"According to the math and geography of the earth, based on the conditions of my birth and the DNA that carries, coupled with the randomized quantum physics of the universe's consciousness...I've deduced that the number of other minds with this idea or concept is six-point-zero-zero-two-six-six-five-seven, to round the number off. It came out to be an irrational number like pi, but it tells me that there must be at least six other people on this earth at this time that know about this or have suspected its possibility. That's basically one person per billion."

"Far and few between much?"

"Exactly."

A drip of black ran down the left side of Cindy's vision. She moaned aloud.

"No, I can't be waking up now..."

"I'm afraid you are. You're fading from my consciousness."

More drips of blackness peeled down her field of vision. "I don't want to leave, Jimmy!"

"You have to. You've been here long enough."

More black drips. Darkness was suffocating Cindy's vision and body.

"Jimmy...I love you! I don't want to go!"

"I'm sorry...I can't do anything to stop it."

The last drop of black fell in front of her face, right across the image of Jimmy, and she felt as though she was being suctioned away from the bittersweet dream she'd been having, back into the harsh reality she had to wake up to every day. And when she awoke to see only the brains she'd been staring at, slightly bigger than the previous day, while she still slumped in the same cushy chair that she'd been in for the entire weekend, she screamed in anger, sorrow, pain, isolation.

* * *

**_Other than the ending, I believe that this was a very happy, almost calming chapter in light of the chaos I've brewed up. I don't know what the next chapter will bring, but I think that they will soon begin trying to reconstruct the mind of a genius. :3_**


	15. Extraction

**__**

A/N: Sorry for taking so long to update, but this is actually a sad excuse for a chapter. I will not rewrite it, even though it is only just over half my normal chapter length for Jimmy Neutron stuff. I think I may go on temporary hiatus with this story, but I do have an ending for it. It's getting there that's the trick.

**_I'm sorry for the long wait (four days is a long wait?) and the shortness of this chapter, but it's mostly a filler anyways. Enjoy what you can, and please keep the reading and reviews coming. I take anything and everything you guys say into account and I incorporate a very large portion of it into my stories._**

* * *

The surgery was over. They had tried and failed.

The problem wasn't in the surgeons, it was in the complications. They managed to deter the electricity from his brain. It was easy; a glass wand attracted all the static and then discharged against a lightning rod nearby. Then came the neuro-board, the first of several complications.

Even as the doctors had let Cindy in, a clip-board in her hands, the list of what exactly to do with every single piece and step in the equation, the neuro-board proved impossible to deactivate. Jimmy had said to attach the monitor and destroy one line of coding, but it kept replicating itself and Cindy couldn't get his consciousness to answer. So the head surgeon unscrewed it from the inside of the brain cap and then smashed it with a hammer. Code destroyed. Neural link terminated.

However, the sudden severing of the link had given Cindy a severe migraine headache. Not only that, but the heart began beating erratically and the monitors on the body seemed to indicate that something was wrong. The brain wilted and died right there. Plan B with the neural grafts, canceled. The brain was dead. Gone. And Cindy's head hurt because Jimmy had essentially lost a limb within her mind.

Then they had cut the brain out and replaced it with the week-old healthy duplicate. It was reattached and everything ran well. The new board was linked into the brain, but then the problem arose: the board rejected the brain as a viable host. It simply wasn't strong enough to hold Jimmy's consciousness. The read-out on the screen determined that if Jimmy were to return to the brain, he would lose eighty percent of his mental capacity and be rendered basically brain-dead. They had no choice but to leave the brain in its housing and seal the cap back up, even though it was useless. The new brain stabilized the vital signs back to those of an almost-healthy person. Everything was functioning below normal, but it was only equivalent to if Jimmy had been in a coma. Which didn't serve to help matters with Cindy, since she was aching inside from not being able to see him.

The ten-day-old brain only had a fifty percent loss of brain power, but it was still enough to render him brain-dead. The only way Jimmy could be brought back was if the brain had a ninety-one percent recovery rate. And at only half-power, there was no way. The week-grown brain was replaced in the cranium while the ten-day brain was put in a maturation clinic. All they could do then was wait.

Cindy hated waiting. It was so boring and long. Nothing to do. She decided to take advantage of the time warp then and had brought herself two weeks into the future, after which she had slept. Jimmy had made no effort to contact her, even though she had vigilantly searched for his presence while in her stasis. The genius would not talk to her. The only thing she met was the equivalent of a brick wall, and hanging on a hook outside the wall was a sign that said 'experimenting, do not disturb.' And when she had woken up the next day, the day of the third surgery, she hadn't felt like she'd slept at all. She kept feeling more and more tired as the days stacked on, and it wasn't anything near fun.

So she'd gone back into the surgery room, and she stood, once again with clip-board in hand, and gazed at the surgeons as they re-severed the brain-cap and extracted the week-grown brain.

Cindy had already seen this done twice, so it was no big deal for her to watch it again. What was more nerve-wracking was that it was Jimmy's life on the line. She longed for him, ached inside with a pain like that of a stab wound, and yet he would not come.

So she sat in the chair, waiting patiently, looking over the checklist.

_Cut cap, check_

_Extract brain, check_

_Change brain, check_

_Run diagnostics, in progress_

She looked back up, but the screen was still scanning through thousands of lines of coding and neural functions.

Pain.

Livid, white pain slashed at the back of her mind, and she clutched her head in her hands. She saw an image of a brick wall being smashed by a wrecking ball. There was a connection between her mind and his, the first in almost a month.

_Jimmy?_

_Cindy! I've done it! I have the equation! Get a pencil and write it down!_

_Forget that. I'm in surgery._

_You? Surgery? For what?_

_For you, stupid! We're on your third brain and it's all we have left._

His voice paused. _My third brain?_

_The one that grew for a month. The neuro-board is running scans now to determine if you can be reimplanted._

A sharp stab of pain slapped her in the right temple. _This can't be good. What were the success rates?_

_The first brain was tiny, but we used it to keep your body alive. The second had a fifty percent chance. This one should have a very high chance, right?_

She heard what sounded like a swear. _It fluctuates. It depends on millions of tiny circumstances that I can't anticipate, not even with equations to rule out all variables. No matter what setting I may put it in, there's no way to know for sure if the brain will take._

"Ms. Vortex?"

She opened her left eye and gazed at the screen. There was one line of red characters in the center of the screen:

_Brain Sample 3. Scanning complete. Health, 99%. Link, 8 Xb. Rate, 89%. Confirm link?_

Cindy stared at the screen. "Doctor...allow me a moment to think."

"Right. Samuel, keep that body in stasis. Don't kill it, don't bring it out."

_Jimmy, what do I do?_

_What are the specs?_

_Um...it's sample three. Scans finished. It says ninety-nine percent health. Link is eight X B, whatever that means._

_XB refers to zeta-bytes. It's the computer equivalent of one million neurons per second. Eight million neurons per second is an astounding number. But...what's the rate?_

She gulped. _You wanted a ninety-one percent success rate...we're at eighty-nine. _

There was a long silence on his end. Cindy felt like she was on the end of a dropped phone call.

_It wants to know if I should confirm the link. What do I do, Jimmy?_

He remained silent. An image of a hurricane tapped against the mental link, but was batted away quickly. She could only imagine the mental turmoil he must be in.

_Well...I don't like anything below an A minus...but...this is really close, better than I hoped for. I...I don't know._

_You don't know? You're the genius! You're supposed to know how this works!_

_Cindy...no matter how long I grow a brain for, it will only ever reach ninety percent._

_What do you mean?_

_I mean that I lied. There is no chance for this brain to grow any more stable or ready to handle my consciousness. _

_You lied? But why?_

_I had to give you confidence. You don't know how heart-breaking it is for me to see you so down._

She mentally slapped him. _This is your life! Why would you toy with something like this?_

_It's not my fault, Cindy! You're always so down and I wanted to cheer you up! I had to give you hope because I...I needed to. For...for me, too._

She waited. A fuzzy image hit her. She could imagine that he had sighed.

_I had to instill hope not only in you, but in me. If I set the bar at ninety-one percent, I could fool us both into believing that it was possible that I would live._

_But doesn't ninety percent mean that you'll live?_

_Anything below a ninety, even one percent, is a ten percent subtraction from my odds of pulling through successfully._

_So then...either way you look at it, there's a ninety percent chance of success?_

_No. There's only a forty percent chance of success. _

_What?_

_It might not make sense...Between ninety-one and ninety percent, there is a fifty percent drop in success rate. After the ninety mark, there's a ten percent drop for each one percent of link stability._

_Why didn't you tell me? _

_Because it essentially means that I have no way of coming back by mathematical equations and predicting._

_But why not? _

_Because there's only a forty percent chance of revival. Just because the link is stable and strong doesn't guarantee that I'll be able to settle inside my brain smoothly. I may run the risk of becoming brain-dead, or becoming insane. I'll make it all in one piece with an eighty-nine percent success rate, sure, but I might not fill back into the brain the same way. Things may get lost in the translation and not put into memory properly._

_And you didn't tell me this why?_

_Well, you can kinda see why..._

She fumed. _Goddamnit, Jimmy!_

_Cindy, don't get mad. This only complicates things. The more calm or happy your mind and body are, the easier the transfer is. _

She sighed inwardly. _Jimmy...what should I do? What do I push?_

He was silent for a moment, his consciousness cloudy and unreadable. _I...I'm going to leave that decision up to you. I've given you my speculation and my evidence. All I can do now is to let you decide._

_Let ME decide YOUR fate? How does that work?_

_I trust you._

His consciousness withdrew almost entirely.

_Just be sure to let me know what the decision is._

And with that, he severed the link. She was brought back to the operating room, the glaring overhead lights temporarily blinding her. She blinked.

"If I bring him back, he runs the risk of losing himself...but If I let him stay in my mind, then I run the risk of losing myself...do I sacrifice him to his own inventions and hope for a miracle, or do I go with what I know and keep him with me...?"

The doctor overheard her muttering. He laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Young lady. I may be an old man, but I've heard my fair share of strange conversations. Of all of them, I think that was probably in the top ten. However, maybe you should do what you think is best for yourself before you think of him. You've done so much already."

"How do you know?"

"I know a lot about you, Ms. Vortex. I know that you've sacrificed a lot by holding his mind in yours for the past month that he's been in stasis."

"How-"

"I also know about the relationship that you two have going on. It's not like it was really a secret; ten years ago, it was almost laughably obvious. Now it's just better concealed, but I can almost feel you pining away for him. I won't tell you what to do, but I will tell you this: That boy genius can fix anything."

"Who the hell are you?"

She finally got a good look at him. He wasn't the tallest man in the world, and he was missing all of his hair. He grinned at her, his glass-bottle glasses magnifying his eyes like those of a dragonfly.

"Ms. Cynthia Vortex, how long has it been?"

"Calamitous...Jeez, I haven't seen you since I was a kid! You're a doctor?"

"In a manner of speaking," the wizened old man said. "I'm not really a doctor per se, more like a consultant. I've spent a lot of time researching the human brain."

"And so you know what's going on with Jimmy?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, as it is I'm underpaid and undereducated. There's no way I'd be able to do what this young revolutionary has."

"But it means that you can help me, right? I mean, there aren't any grudges are there?"

He chuckled. "No, no, there aren't. My daughter was corrupted by her vision of society and she has been dealt with by the authorities. I'm just a quiet old man who's called an eccentric nowadays, someone who just stands back and lets the world pass by. Ten years is a lot of time, enough to change someone's perspective of life."

"So you could help me, then?"

"Unfortunately, the likes of this type of technology and the implications that this holds are far beyond me. I tried to understand just five years ago what it would take to separate mind from body, but I only formed hypotheses. It was Jimmy who actually developed on them and came up with cellular integration."

"You worked with him?"

"I was his professor in his astrophysics class. But astrophysics tied in heavily with theoretical mathematics, and he and I would spend hours after class writing equations and deriving formulas from what was written and what had yet to be created. We even created a way to feasibly connect the moon to the earth using a system of information relays."

"So...you knew."

"I've known for the past year what he intended to do. He missed one day of class to have the board implanted, then proceeded to teleport around the room with it after class. I was stunned. The man was a genius."

"He still is. Only problem is, he's in here."

The man sighed wearily. "Yes, that is a bit of a problem. I can only form ideas of what could happen, but...I unfortunately cannot help you decide."

"What? Why not?"

"It's not my decision to make. The only thing I can say is to choose carefully, and that you need to follow your heart."

"You're a _scientist!_ How can you let emotion play into this?"

"It's what corrupted me from the beginning. I've since striven to change my ways and become a better person. It's certainly better than Eustace Strych trying to pour money into that obnoxious air-head that tried to put him in jail, right?"

"Yeah...wait, _what?_"

"Oh, right, you didn't know. Eustace and Riege were business partners. They knew each other through Ms. Quinlan, of course. Eustace had money, Riege had a plan. They put two and two together to try and make four, and look where it got them. The murderers are broke and have no viable proof that can take Strych down with them, though I suppose it doesn't matter much. The man has enough money to buy his way out of any sentence he could receive."

"But...but that means..."

"He was in no way an accomplice to murder. He didn't even know of Riege's plan, only that he needed the money for business."

"So...did I wrongly convict him?"

"No. Riege and Quinlan got what they deserved. Strych is not a bad man, just one who has been under the command of the dollar for far longer than he would like to admit."

"But...woah, that's heavy."

"And irrelevant. Like I said, follow your heart."

Cindy planted her fist into the bottom of her jaw, leaning on it as a prop, her elbow balanced on her knee. Twelve seconds passed.

"Calamitous, pay attention to the clip-board very carefully. When I am done with this panel, I want to be knocked out on a gurney and waiting for this whole nightmare to be over. Do you understand me?"

"Right away, Ms. Vortex."

She stood and strode to the lifeless body of the genius, the screen protruding from his cranium cap. She pressed a small button on the front that was painted green, and immediately a small spark of blue electricity arced between the occipital lobe and the neuro-board. She turned back to her ex-rival.

"Alright. Whatever happens..."

"Everything will be alright."

She nodded at him, feeling not quite so sure as she turned back to the screen. It had a command on it:

_Unplug me from the chip._

She popped the cable out of the tiny slot in the side of the board and it retracted into the screen. A new question came up.

_Begin extraction?_

She pressed the green button, and her world immediately went black amid a tirade of an agonizing crushing force on her scalp and millions of pins and needles stabbing into her skin. She screamed silently as she felt Jimmy's consciousness pass her by through the endless sea of darkness.

* * *

**_I hate ending it so suddenly, but there's really nothing that I could add. I had to skip forward in time; there's no way for me to write out what happened during the month without getting insanely bored._**

**_On a sadder note, I'm probably going to devote most of my time to my Hannah Montana story, The Angel Of Death. If you're at all interested, feel free to check it out. Again, sorry for the delay and short story (and possible temporary hiatus). I will make an effort to finish this story, but I have an idea that I need to run with for this one. :)_**


	16. A Word From The Author

_**Hello, Kyttin here again. I'm so sorry for departing, my lovelies, but unfortunately, my inspiration dissipated and, well, fell to pieces. I didn't have any motivation to continue any unfinished works here on the site, but I trust that you'll forgive me when I say that I have a reason.**_

_**Now, I have some business to attend to. First, I must cover which story this is for and why. This is not a chapter update; this is more like my farewell of sorts to the decidedly-completed work. This story is Pushed To Breaking Point, correct? **_

_**After serious consideration, I decided that I would call this story Part I and end it exactly where it finished on Chapter 15 with Cindy in the hospital and Jimmy on the gurney. I had an entire Part II planned out not long ago, but I don't have the motivation to just put the damn thing onto paper. However, if I receive enough messaging in my inbox (or reviews on this chapter), I'll go ahead and post a brief synopsis of what I intended to write. Yes, this story is complete; I just didn't change its status until yesterday because I intended to write more before I first lost inspiration some time ago and switched to Hannah Montana stories. I realize this particular subset of FFn is based on a television show that ended six years ago, but I live under the belief that anything can and will live on so long as it is supported by a single person. No wonder Back To The Future has such a large fanbase.**_

_**Thus, you have the explanation for Pushed To Breaking Point. I'm terribly sorry I wasn't around to finish the story off, but if someone wishes to adopt this piece and write the work, either as I depict or as you please, then please, I encourage the creativity with only the small request that you credit me as your original source for this story. I again apologize for my disappearance, but I shall clearly and openly state that I've begun a new work, a Jimmy Neutron fanfic which is already 8,363 words long in Chapter 1 alone, and I'm looking for beta readers. The first three people to message me (or post replies; one per recently-completed story that isn't Never Give In) will become betas for me, but I WARN YOU NOW: the story is hard to stomach. It's not a bad piece, just a lot to take in.**_

_**Since my rant here is done, I wish you all the best and that you keep reading and writing to your hearts' content. I love all you guys and I'll see you soon.**_

_**UPDATE: I've decided to keep writing this story after receiving three very angy reviews about its disappearance. Sorry for making you all mad; I actually intended to leave this story to die (or have someone else pick up where I left off). If you really want to take this story under your wing, I can give you the synopsis and you can write it like that, or you can tell me to fuck off and just go write your own piece. Choice is yours.**_

_**~Kyttin**_


	17. Mind Shock

**_A/N: After feeling guilty about leaving this story hanging (and after getting so many reviews from people who were disappointed with the sudden ending to this story), I decided to start Part II. No promises on whether or not I'll keep it going to the end, but I had to at least show that I do, in fact, care about my readers and their opinions. However, C:H405 is still my main focus, and I'll attempt to keep it as such even if I decide to continue writing this work. I'm sorry it took me more than a year to post another chapter, and to the three people who violently protested my sudden discontinuation of this fic, I hope this at least somewhat makes up for it._**

**_I'm not doing this for word count, length, or anything of that sort. I'll save that for C:H405. I'm doing this purely to finish the storyline I started writing so long ago. I apologize here and now if it's not up to par with my standard writing style or finesse, but this story isn't my main focus and therefore won't be as drawn out or thorough as C:H405 is. If that's still not good enough for you, I don't know what to say to you. Sorry._**

* * *

Jimmy opened his eyes and blinked under the harsh ultraviolet sunshine streaming in through the drawn white window curtains. He sniffled and sat up, blinking irritably in the light. From what he could deduce, it was mid-morning or early afternoon, and the hunger in his stomach agreed.

"Ah, so nice to see you're awake. How are you feeling?"

He looked blearily at the nurse, still attempting to get his bearings. He felt like there was an unusual amount of pressure on his head and wasn't exactly certain what was going on. Even listening to the nurse sounded as though he were being spoken to while underwater.

"I feel like I'm in a haze."

"Well, that's to be expected. People don't normally undergo this set of circumstances."

The nurse felt his forehead, her hand cool and relaxing. He sighed.

"How did everything go? What was it like?"

As the nurse opened her mouth to speak, he shook his head. "No, no, better to get an eyewitness account from Vortex herself."

His throat felt constricted. Everything about him felt rather unusual, as though he weren't quite himself. Even the nurse was giving him a strange look, though if the surgery had gone well as he believed it had, there was no surprise there.

"I'll just leave you to rest, dear. Here's a cup of water and some bread. Eat up, drink up. I'll locate a doctor for you."

She departed with haste, and Jimmy looked at the meager food before him. It was like prison food. Then again, food was food, and he cleared the bed tray of its contents before gazing around at the room.

The calendar on the far wall said it was a Saturday in mid-July, and after some rough calculations, he predicted that he'd been asleep for at least ten days since the surgery, if not longer.

His scalp itched. He scratched his hair and paused for a moment. "Was my hair ever this soft?"

A strand of it trailed in front of his eyes and he gasped. Even for a genius, the sudden information was startling. It wasn't his hair. And he realized with a horrible sinking feeling that something was terribly wrong and that the surgery hadn't gone according to plan, but in utter disbelief, he disconnected the IV tube and the heart monitors. The machine whined as his heartbeat was lost to it, but he was deaf to the noise. He strode for the bathroom on light, shaking legs, unstable as a newborn calf, and hunched over the sink, his arms locked to support him. He gulped, splashing water on his face, and reached for the towel hanging to his left.

But not even drying his face could counter the unbelievable image staring back at him in the mirror.

Long, disheveled blonde hair. Sparkling chartreuse eyes. That cute nose. Those warm, pouty lips. He began groping wildly at his body. The skinny, pale arms. The thin, delicate fingers with their glossy, polished nails. The breasts. The curves. The stomach. The _ass_. Even the legs and feet were thin and lithe. He stared at himself once again in the mirror and nearly screamed.

Jimmy Neutron was no longer controlling Jimmy Neutron's body. The body he stood in and was in total command of was that of Cindy Vortex.

He clapped a hand to his mouth as the reality set in. How it had happened was unclear, but he deduced that something had gone wrong during the data transmission. He remembered being whirled around in a blender before settling into darkness, but he never imagined that the neuro-board had clapped around the wrong consciousness. He blinked at himself, staring at what he thought was the most sexy, gorgeous figure he'd ever laid eyes on, and realized with stunning clarity that he wasn't in his own body, much like when his childish experiment of mind-reading had swapped their brains.

But the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach told him it wasn't as simple as a simple mind swap.

He heard the door to the private room open and shut. "Miss Vortex?"

He gulped and struggled to remain upright. He slowly turned and fed his head around the doorjamb to look at the doctor.

"Calamitous?"

"Ah, nice to see you're awake and feeling better, Miss Vortex. How was your rest?"

Jimmy hesitated. "Um, Calamitous, there's-"

"Please, call me Finbarr."

"Right. Finbarr. There's something wrong. Something majorly wrong."

"I don't understand. You look perfectly fine."

"Tell me: where is the body?"

"Beg pardon?"

"The body, Finbarr. Where is the body of James Isaac Neutron?"

The man blinked, his brow furrowing. He gazed at Jimmy with concern.

"I'm sorry, but it's still braindead. Whatever happened in that operating room after you pushed the green button, the body never changed from its state of stasis."

He gulped. "Finbarr, there's something terribly wrong here."

"Yes, it seems young Mister Neutron may never come out of his comatose state."

"That's not what's wrong. Cindy isn't here anymore."

"What on earth are you talking about, my dear?"

"Finbarr. It's me. Jimmy Neutron."

The old man blinked incredulously. "Miss Vortex, have you eaten yet today? Do you feel unwell?"

"I'm perfectly fine," Jimmy snapped, stepping shakily from the bathroom. "I'm Jimmy. I was trapped within Cindy's mind for a month or so before we got to the operation. She was supposed to use the neuro-board link to transfer me back into my brain and body. From my guess, and a rough mental search, she's nowhere to be found. The link must have grabbed the wrong mind, and upon realizing such, it terminated the link and deleted everything related to Cindy Vortex and her consciousness mid-stream. Her mind doesn't exist anymore."

The realization stunned both of them. "My dear, I believe you are a fair bit delusional. You still look and sound very much like Miss Vortex. Are you sure you aren't just having a bad start to your day?"

Jimmy clenched his fists. "The teleportation, then. The neuro-board. Remember what we decided? The board was capable of directly transferring anyone to a specific lat-lon location with a near-perfect accuracy, but to determine vertical height offset so as not to appear inside of anything or floating about in space, I had to help you derive an algorithm for physical structure and personal presence. Remember? It was based on combining the rough particle acceleration of the satellites, the geometric translation from one height to another, and a theoretical derivative equation based on the quantum geospectral condition of the given location?"

The man looked thunderstruck. "Miss Vortex…how could you have possibly known that? Mister Neutron and I swore to utmost secrecy about that algorithm! Did he tell you, perhaps?"

"If I swore to secrecy, Finbarr, I certainly wouldn't have told anyone. Remember? That algorithm contained several assumptions that could only be proven true through repeated self-testing and analysis? Remember that everything we discussed was purely hypothetical until I finally installed the board? Remember the ramifications of what satellite-based GPS translation are?"

The old man seemed to wither unto himself, taking a deep, shaky breath. "Are you indeed Mister Neutron?"

"Ask me something Cindy would never know. Something that only I would know. Something only we would know."

The man blinked and stared at the ground for a moment. "Explain to me the idea of shared consciousness and internal struggle based on assumed schizophrenia and proven schizophrenia."

Jimmy hesitated. "The short answer is that schizophrenics don't actually have separate conscious minds. It's all one mind spitting out different facets of the complexity that is the human persona and behavior, usually as a response to some sort of struggle or trauma. Shared consciousness implies that two people may inhabit the same physical mind space without any repercussions or drawbacks. This, also, is not true, as there is always a dominant mind and a recessive mind. In the case of us, I was the recessive mind, as I was classified as the intruder to her, though she knew not how to defend against me and so was forced to tolerate my existence. This places great struggle and inconsistency on thought patterns and psychological stability. If one's mind is shared for long enough, they slowly begin to lose sense of reality and will begin to exhibit the same sort of insanity that schizophrenics suffer from, albeit with the one difference that their mind actually does house two inhabitants as opposed to the single one split into parts."

Calamitous looked stunned.

"This, also, lends interest and credit to the theory that if the dominant consciousness is no longer present or commanding, the recessive consciousness can take control of the mind and body to do its bidding, something which can also be incorrectly labeled dissociative identity disorder. However, if the dominant consciousness is nonexistent, and a recessive consciousness is forced to take control to stay alive, great strain is placed on the mind and body from the intruder's most likely unwelcomed touch. In short, if I stay here too long, Cindy's body and mind might reject me as a suitable controller and will most likely shut down to prevent me from staying present and in charge for very long."

The doctor cleared his throat. "Mister Neutron. If what you're saying rings true, and you are indeed the now-dominant mind within Miss Vortex's body, then you do not belong here in this hospital. I don't know or care what the ramifications are behind this madness, but I have a sneaking suspicion that if you don't reverse this twisted string of events, something far more terrible will occur and the world as we know it will suffer great consequence. For this paradox to be true, that she exists and does not at the same time, there is great danger already present around us. This one catalyst event could be what brings our world, our universe, to its end."

Jimmy stepped behind a curtain and yanked the medical gown from the body, averting his eyes as best he could. He spent a moment dressing (though decided to forego a bra for the body's privacy) and stepped from behind the curtain again, laying the gown on the bed while zipping up a thick, dark blue jacket.

"Finbarr, I need to get out of this hospital. Now. I don't know or care what it takes, I need to leave and get back to Retroville NOW. If I've calculated correctly, I have about seven days before my presence in this body will serve to deteriorate it to nonexistence and the universe collapses upon itself. If by midnight next Saturday I haven't found a solution for the problem, all hope is very much lost."

"Go, Mister Neutron. I'll see to it that Miss Vortex is checked out properly and you should be able to vacate the premises with all due haste. Go!"

Jimmy darted grimly past the old man and tottered out the door, still unfamiliar with the body he inhabited. Thankfully, Cindy had had enough sense to wear tennis shoes before going to his surgery, and he didn't have to deal with anything as outrageous as high heels on top of the already-dizzying feeling of weak knees and limp arms.

_Focus, Jimmy. _

"Cindy!"

A mane of red shoved its way into Jimmy's vision and a pair of soft, warm lips met his left cheek. He felt his face instantly flame from the touch.

"Err…Priscilla?"

"I was so worried about you! I got a call that you'd gone critical about two weeks ago, so I came down here to make sure everything was okay. I've been helping your nurse just to make sure I got to see you alive and well again."

The red-haired lawyer hugged Jimmy and he reluctantly returned the gesture. "Priscilla, now really isn't the time for this-"

"And just what are you doing out of bed, young lady? You're certainly not well enough to be wandering about the hospital, not if you've just woken up! And your boyfriend is still in his comatose state. Do you really think you're supposed to be wandering around with so much going on?"

Jimmy didn't know what to say as the woman kept talking. After a mere thirty seconds, he finally snapped and lost his temper.

"I don't have time to lay around and wait for everything to come to an end. I have to get back to Retroville, Priscilla. I have to go, now."

He pushed past the bewildered red-head, but heard her begin to follow him, still chattering all the while. He stormed out the front doors of the hospital and finally turned to look at her.

"…and you're gonna go off and do something fuckin' crazy just because you're desperate-"

"Priscilla, for the love of science, please shut _up!_"

She clapped her jaw closed, eyes wide. Obviously Cindy had never lost her temper with Priscilla before. It was so terribly tempting to roll his eyes, but he refrained for her sake.

"Give me your phone."

She wordlessly handed the cell phone to him. He blinked at it, pushing what seemed to be a random sequence of numbers. It rang. Once. Twice. Thrice.

"Pick up, boy…"

A bark came over the line, followed by sniffing and a _huh? _noise."

"Goddard, it's Jimmy."

Another confused noise.

"Look. It's Jimmy. Jimmy Neutron. I'm stuck in Cindy's body. Her personality and consciousness are gone, boy. I need you to meet me at the…" he spun around in a circle, gazing at the building "…Jane Myers Memorial Hospital west of Austin. Can you fly here in the hovercar or something for me?"

There was a moment of silence before a huff and a small bark were heard in response.

"I'm counting on you, boy."

The line went dead. He handed the phone back to Priscilla, who looked furious and confused.

"Cynthia Aurora, if you don't tell me what the hell is going on right now-"

"I'm not Cindy."

She paused. "Then who are you?"

"I'm her so-called 'boyfriend' Jimmy Neutron. The one accused of murdering Celeste?"

"Uh-huh. Don't play games with me, woman."

"Fine. Think what you will, but realize I'm not lying."

He turned back to the street as he heard the familiar whirr of the hovercar's motor growing gradually louder. He saw the giant inner-tube-shaped vehicle approaching from the sky, descending toward him. It landed gently and his robotic canine, Goddard, jumped out and slowly approached him.

"Goddard! Oh, man, it's so good to see you, boy?"

The dog stopped and gazed confusedly at Jimmy. The plate to which his neck connected flipped up and open, the monitor beneath typing frantic text.

_My scanner indicates that you're Cindy._

"Did you use the new global identifier I gave you last year?"

The dog's LED-eyes blinked twice. _Master never told anyone about that upgrade._

Jimmy smiled. "Still think I'm not Master?"

The dog ran the scan anyways, gazing curiously at Jimmy. The scan completed with a ding.

_Your DNA is of Cindy, but the scanner…_

"Yes?"

…_it says your mind is Master._

"Because it's me, Goddard. I'm your master."

…_Master? Is that really you?_

Jimmy smiled, gazing at his dog fondly. "Hey, boy."

The dog yipped excitedly and jumped as the panel flipped shut, bathing Jimmy's face in kisses and slobber. He laughed at his dog's antics.

"Alright, boy. I'll explain everything when we get back to the lab, but for now we need to get going."

"And so you plan to leave me here?"

"Well, you don't believe me, and you can't seem to stop babbling, so yeah, I do."

"Uhh, fuck you, Cindy. I'm going with."

Priscilla jumped into the hovercar before Jimmy could object. He sighed and climbed inside, starting the vehicle wearily.

One week would certainly be a very long time if it continued at the pace it was keeping.

* * *

_**And so that's Chapter 1 of Part II...also known as the official Chapter 16. I'm leaving the author's note chapter in there just for shiggles, but if you'll note, it's been updated too. I'll work on this when I decide I want to update. Realize that the City calls to me, though, and I'm about 2/5ths of the way through the fourth chapter of that story. I'll post Chapter 2 of C:H405 here when I write its fourth chapter and get my beloved beta to read through it. ~Kyttin**_


	18. The Plan To End All Plans

_**This chapter's short, but I don't mind, and I hope you don't either. Mostly, it contains Jimmy ranting and raving about what's gonna happen now. If you don't like extensively long monologues, leave now and don't come back; boy genius is getting his groove on in this chapter.**_

* * *

"So explain to me once more what you're doing?"

The duo had entered Jimmy's lab, and the adult-boy-genius-turned-girl sat frantically cramming keystrokes into his keyboard, gazing up at the gigantic backlit screen embedded in the wall. Behind her, the red-haired defense attorney had her flannel-pajama-pants-clad legs crossed one over the other, her elbow resting on her knee, her chin resting in hand. None of the characters on the screen made any kind of sense to her, but from what she could remember Cindy telling her about the man, he was best seen and observed before understood.

"I'm trying to test my theory." She scratched the bandage over the vein on her right arm. For all the world, the voice and actions of the character in the chair matched those of Cindy Vortex, but Priscilla had known in that brief kiss that it wasn't the girl she'd shared a dorm with.

"Your theory?"

The blonde hair waggled as she nodded. "If Cindy's personality is nonexistent, I predict a series of events to come that must be altered and restored to normal. Under present circumstances, my primary deduction is that I have a week to resolve this."

"When did this series of events begin to unfold?"

The mind-confused-body of Cindy cleared its throat. "Well, the fact that I'm Jimmy Neutron is enough…but my belief is that this chain reaction was based entirely on two catalytic events: the moment of transfer, and which mind woke up in this body. I'm fairly certain that my theory is correct and that I have a week to reverse this astronomical improbability before we're all obliterated into nonexistent particles of had-been light and energy."

"Obliterated?"

Goddard barked and printed out a long stream of paper with gibberish listed on every single line. Only a few words like 'key,' 'string,' and 'variant' were intelligible enough for Priscilla to catch them, but the paper was torn away from the robotic canine before she had a moment to begin processing the data.

With one deft movement, Jimmy stood from the chair and moved to a nearby workbench. She grasped a red marker and drew a long oval across the page, apparently highlighting one string of data over the rest.

"It's just as I suspected," she whispered. She dropped the paper and pressed her palms to her face, whispering strings of curses one right after another. Priscilla was surprised at the amount of vulgarity coming from the mouth of the genius, and was even more surprised at the extensive list of words uttered.

"Want to go wash your mouth with soap," she ribbed. Jimmy waved a hand at her, signaling for silence.

"Goddard, record string data within that oval and create a countdown timer for me."

The dog barked in compliance and scanned the paper with blinking white eyes. Two short seconds later, the panel to which his neck attached flipped upward and a green monitor appeared, with a series of numbers listed across its face.

07. 10. 33. 42. 157.

The number to the far right descended at a very rapid rate. The one to its left dropped one number per second.

"Mind explaining?"

"I've done the impossible."

Priscilla waited for a moment.

"I've created a paradox."

She scoffed. The blonde's green eyes blazed as she dropped her hands.

"You think I'm joking, don't you?"

Priscilla laughed. "A paradox? Isn't that a distinct impossibility within the laws of physics?"

"But I've just _shattered _the laws of physics into a million pieces."

Again, the red-haired lawyer smirked, failing to realize the intensity of the situation. "Enlighten me, Ms. Genius."

Ignoring the verbal jibe made at her gender-swap, Jimmy wheeled a chalkboard forward, drawing a single stick from a nearby box. She drew a male identifier sign and a female identifier sign and put a J in the male and a C in the female.

"These figures represent bodies. The J is my mind and body. The C is her mind and body."

Priscilla nodded. Easy enough to understand.

"Now, when we were kids, I tried a mind-reading experiment involving electrical impulses and a telephone. To test my invention, I called Cindy one night during a thunderstorm. When lightning struck the line, we swapped bodies."

She switched the letters to the opposite gender identifiers. The J was in the female sign and the C was in the male sign.

"This was easy enough to rectify, as there were still two minds and two bodies to tend to. All we did was have a manual brain dump into a mind vat, leaving our friends to sort out the mess."

She replaced the letters into their original locations.

"However, this is different. She and I shared this mind for a month while my body lay in a coma."

She put both letters into the female identifier. The male one sat empty.

"Then, when we did the transfer, her mind was grabbed and caused a link error. The transfer link was set to delete all data that had been transferred and was in process of transference."

She erased the C almost entirely. The J took up much of the space in the female identifier, with the male still being empty but with a large X overtop.

"Cindy's consciousness was deleted from existence due to a fatal link error, caused by the neuroboard's lack of proper association. It didn't know which mind to focus on, so it grasped the first one it found and yanked it out. Unfortunately, when it realized it was wrong, it didn't know to transfer the data back and pull the untouched region over."

"How did it know the difference between your minds?"

"It didn't know until it got to the core. When she and I started, our minds were separate entities."

She drew two circles underneath the identifiers. Their edges failed to touch.

"Because of the previous mind-swap, when our minds were confined together once again, they began to meld together. She could see into my thoughts, and I pretty much got a blow-by-blow account of everything that happened to her and that she wished would happen to her. Some of her dreams were fairly erotic for a girl I'd once considered to be a nun."

Priscilla cleared her throat. Jimmy drew a Venn diagram, scribbling in the middle region.

"When the link reached for a mind, it grasped the middle section and grabbed whatever it could find that was more dominant in nature. It took Cindy."

She erased the left half of the Venn diagram, leaving the shaded region inside the other circle.

"However, it left enough of her mind within this body to allow me access to her body; had she been completely obliterated I'd have no control and her body would also enter an indefinite comatose state."

She pointed back at the female identifier with the letter J and the faded letter C inside.

"If Cindy had been entirely erased, one of two things would happen. Either, one: she would be erased from the universe's existence palette and we wouldn't know each other or be able to recall any memory of or with her, or two: the universe would have immediately reversed itself in time to the split second before she pushed the button to initiate the link and would've altered her mind to not allow her the ability to do so."

She sighed, dropping the chalk.

"However, she's been partially, almost completely erased. This means, according to my theory, that the universe is currently collapsing onto itself. By my guess, I'd say this collapse began at the far side of the universal sphere and is working its way toward this galaxy."

She strode back to the computer and brought up a three-dimensional hologram of a large bluish-black ball. At one end rested a red splotch that looked like a splash of blood.

"My theory is that I have slightly longer than one week to repair the damage I've caused to the universe and restore the cosmic imbalance to a conceivable level."

"How have you caused a paradox?"

She stopped. "Cindy, for all intents and purposes, doesn't exist any longer. Her body is still present, but her consciousness has been wiped clean from the universal fabric, easier than if she'd been a stain sprayed with bleach cleaner."

"So?"

"For her body to exist with no corresponding mind to support it, a cataclysmic event has indeed occurred and will lead to the destruction of the entire cosmos."

The image on the monitor zoomed in slightly, showing a five-armed spiraling galaxy on the left and a large black line on the right. Beyond the line was a white space.

"I am probably the least certain of this one theory and this chain of events than I've ever been about any theory or chain of events thusfar. This isn't exactly something that nuclear physics or scientific calculation can prove or verify. I'm literally breaking all bonds and concepts the scientific community possesses by attempting to prove my theory true and consequently reverse its progress."

"What are you talking about?"

She sighed. "Back when Cindy and I were talking, I mentioned a theory I possess about the universe: that it is a consciousness. My theory is that this universe is existent within the mind of a person, and that when something goes wrong in this person's subconscious mind or their consciousness, it becomes a disorder or defect that they possess. Based on how long the universe has been in existence, coupled with rough theoretical physics and mathematics based on vector transition and polynomial exponents, I've deduced that we'd accurately be inhabiting the mind of a woman somewhere between the ages of thirty-four and thirty-seven years of age."

Priscilla looked stunned. Jimmy pressed onward, knowing full well that the red-head before her thought she was utterly crazy.

"My theory is this: I have developed a prototype device capable of slowing time to a near-frozen state outside of a ten-foot-diameter field. Objects will warp through the field to the other side, as the state of time within the field is effectively accelerated by a constant degree of influence. I've created a way to take one minute of time and lengthen it to one hour of time, so that each second that passes on a clock becomes a minute. It's not perfect; in fact, the actual conversion rate only changes the time multiplier by fifty-seven rather than by a perfect sixty, but it's enough. The one flaw is that it requires an enormous amount of power to operate for any period of time longer than a three-minute span. I would need it to operate for at least twenty hours, or what would be about eleven-hundred hours within the bubble. The amount of power is beyond unfathomable; it's obscene.

"Then, there's the transport. My rocket could do it, but I'd need to modify it to be able to sustain a gravity field and an air pocket in order to safely house occupants and items of need. It'd need a weapons system, several new thrusters, and a gravitational displacement generator, or a four-dimensional warp drive. Again, power becomes an issue. Luckily, in both cases, I have a solution worked out.

"My hypercube, H Mark IV, has been improved beyond its less-stable counterparts to be able to contain nuclear explosions and highly-dangerous chemical reactions the likes of which could destroy humanity altogether. It's also been created with a complex induction relay which allows for the creation and destruction of internal chambers that can be filled with any number of things. The Mark IV has the ability to house ten to the infinity-minus-one cells, and each of those cells can house ten to the infinity-minus-one cells within itself. This ten to the infinity-minus-one to the infinity-minus-one calculation based on a simple derivative algorithm and a carefully-controlled almost-nonexistent space known as vortional shift allows me to store vast amounts of energy and supplements the likes of which would be devastating at the least if unleashed all at once. Currently, all the cells in the Mark IV are filled with matter, anti-matter, and dark-matter particles in equal, catalytic quantities. I've got warp portals to several different parallel universes that allow me to siphon matter, dark-matter, and anti-matter into the cube, and after working for the past six years I've finally got this one cube here filled to the top with nearly-endless energy. I only need to create a drip tap and a pressure-control seal to finish it off, and then I can tell it to begin collapsing the innermost cells at a rate directly negative to the amount of time it would take us to travel. Hopefully the amount of power stored in the cube will be enough to allow the rocket to instill a four-dimensional warp drive shift, where an area of immensely high gravitational force behind us is countered by an area of immensely low gravitational force in front of us, literally ripping the rocket through space. I've calculated that reaching the wall of the universe closest to our solar system will require us to traverse just shy of the supermassive black hole at the center of the galactic bulge and will cost about one thousand hours of travel time. This means I'm given a seven-hour buffer time in which I can hash out mistakes and prepare on the final day, assuming my theory is correct. The force it will take to break through the universal barrier and breach the outer wall will probably consume about half of the hypercube's stored energy, and the trip will consume nearly half, leaving us with enough force to keep the four-dimensional gravitational displacement active for the one hour of real-time it'll take to reach the far side of the black void. Nothing is believed to exist there, save an immense darkness that will consume those it catches. It's like a gigantic cloudy monster made of nothing. However, my calculations also state that it takes the cloud nearly a half hour to traverse the belt of the universe, and assuming it's at the far end of the wall it'll reach us when we're halfway across. We should be far enough from the immediate wall to outrun it and breach the far wall into the white void. No data is available about what lies beyond the outer wall, but it's a risk I have to take before our entire universe dissimilates. The hypercube Mark III can power the time-stop controller and act as a backup power supply in case we run out in the Mark IV, though I doubt that'll happen. The only other problem I face is that the cubes will become dangerously unstable in the final eight minutes of internal collapsing of cells, as they'll be running on a program meant to shatter large amounts of internal space with only minimal amounts of internal space left to shatter. They'll take on a forty-gigaton explosion force power if they deteriorate far enough to become volatile.

"The only other thing I can really say is that I'll need to begin filling the Mark III as of today, which will take at least seventy-two hours to do. The Mark IV is already topped off, meaning the remainder of my time not watching the hypercube will be spent making necessary adjustments to my rocket and creating a warp drive. Chances are I'm gonna need another toaster. Any questions?"

Priscilla gaped open-mouthed and wide-eyed at the blonde-haired genius before her. She'd heard tell of his prowess from Cindy back at college, but never had she been subject to seeing it up-close and personal with such drive. She blinked twice and slowly drew her mouth shut as the blonde-haired figure before her shifted from foot to foot.

"Just…one," she struggled to say, fighting a limp tongue and a slack jaw.

"Only one? Cindy would've stopped me several times already," he replied thoughtfully.

"Yeah, just one," she huffed, her mild temper flaring a bit at the insinuation of her lack of intelligence. But with a quick flip of her hair and a cheeky smile, she winked at the genius and asked, "when do we start?"

* * *

**_Typical Priscilla. Then again, she's my own personal character, and she's my favorite OC to date, save for The One in C:H405. I think I like The One a bit more than Prissy just because Prissy didn't manage to trap a city in a bubble of glass. Anyways, I love all you guys, and I'll keep updating this story as I feel the urge. Remember that C:H405 is my primary focus and I'll be more dedicated to that work than this one, so these chapters will be shorter in length and supply. ~Kyttin_**


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